Monday, July 23, 2012

May I Help You?

I would not want to be a salesman because even when they’re just doing their job, they can be very annoying. I took my mom to a store over the weekend and while she looked around I wandered over into the men’s clothing section. To say it was slightly devoid of customers would be to say I mildly question Michelle Bachmann’s sanity.

As I looked over a display of Van Heusen polo shirts a salesman snuck up on me like cocaine found Charlie Sheen.

“May I help you sir?” he asked politely. “Just looking around” I responded. His face kind of squished up as if he had eaten some bad curried goat and it was re-entering his esophagus. I thought I heard him mutter “Great, another just looking asshole. No commission today. Looks like I’ll be eating the mold off my shower curtain for supper again tonight.” He took out a mascara brush and painted a smile back on his face.

“We also have shirts on sale by Chaps, Polo, Izod, Nautica, Aeropostale, Hilfiger, Calvin Klein, Artie Feinstein, Jesus the Divine, Sing Sang,Wing Wang, Skip-to-my-loo, Blah Blah Bloo Bloo and on and on and on.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” I said, a little weary of the man at this point.

The salesman started following me around throwing rose petals at my feet. He pulled out an oboe at one point to play a Beethoven concerto while I pondered my purchase and was quite good. I wept during the second movement.

I decided on two shirts, paid, and was met with thunderous applause from his meaty hands. “Thank you, kind sir. This is the greatest gift I have received since my father brought me my Xanax from Canada. You are a prince, sir! If anyone ever condescends to you I will wound them with the sharpness of my words. If you are attacked physically I will hire a brute to defend you. If you hunger I will plant for you a field of wheat, if you are cold I will quilt you a blanket constructed of scenes of our newly formed friendship.”

“All right!” I finally yelled, a bit too loudly. “Thank you. I’m going to wander over to sporting goods now.”

The salesman clapped his hands together 3 times. Four burly men carrying a bamboo sledge ran out from a back room. I was lifted onto the sled and carried to the sporting goods department while the salesman sang a madrigal in harmony with a perfume girl. I was taken from the sled and laid on a bed of goose down. The salesman bowed with an exaggerated flourish finally walking away. As he did I heard him say to the perfume girl, “The jerk bought 2 shirts, both on sale. My take is $1.50. Looks like unsalted crackers for lunch.”

I don’t think I’ll go shopping for a while.

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