I went to the mall the other day to do some back-to-school shopping. I decided to do it up because I really have nothing to do during the day, so I went to the Galleria. For those of you who are not from Houston, the Galleria is a huge, three story mall with high end stores as well as normal chains. As I wandered around the mall alone, I had plenty of time to get lost in thought – no, no, no, nothing of any importance or any higher level thinking – just mall thoughts.
First off, why the hell do escalators exist? What fat, lazy American invented this? I’m going to guarantee an American invented this without even looking it up because I don’t see any other culture that would have this demand. Do we really need stairs that move?
Well, when I was at the Galleria, I had to go up an escalator that was broken and my mood changed instantly. I could feel the anger and resentment building inside of me. What the hell? Am I supposed to walk up these stairs, I thought. I could really feel the frustration inside of me because it was out of order. I even looked around to see if there was another escalator around that I could ride upstairs. After calculating that it would take more steps to walk to the other one, I walked up with lifeless escalator, barely able to contain the little tantrum that was building inside of me. I wanted to lie on the ground and throw a full on 2 year old fit, complete with screaming, flailing arms and legs, and tears.
I didn’t though.
This trip to the mall also reinforced my hatred for kiosk people. I’m sorry if you’re a kiosk person and you’re just trying to make a living, but it’s like, come on. They are the equivalent of a telemarketer. When I was there, I got asked by no less that 10 kiosk people to try their lotion. Readers, you can’t see me, but I am not a candidate for lotion wearing. If I do wear lotion, it’s Lubriderm. It’s white, odorless, and masculine.
Normally, when I walk by these… people… I pretend to check my cell phone. That usually does the trick. These people are like mean dogs; you just don’t make eye contact with them, and they’ll leave you alone. Sometimes I just walk really fast, put my hand out like I’m stiff arming them, and say, no, thanks, before they can say anything to me.
Also, what is it like for these people when they get home? How much rejection can one take? I bet in a given day they suffer through an inordinate amount of rudeness. Furthermore, how much business can they be doing? How many small, remote controlled helicopters could they possibly sell in a week? Five?
Over Christmas, I actually stopped and indulged one of the lotion sales girls. She basically told me my hands were gross and that my wife couldn’t possibly be that attracted to me because of them. She then told me I had big ears and was a loser. She said, I’d be bald soon and was too fat to not take every step possible to be inoffensive to the senses. She rubbed some of the lotion on my hand and asked me if I was a construction worker or if I put up drywall (No joke, she said that to me).
I’m not sure how I got out of the situation, but, yeah, that’s why I hate you, kiosk workers of America.