Things I want to say to customers, but can't.

I'm working in retail again whilst I intern.  Hilarity ensues.  Also ensuing:  a sad, head-shake at the state of humanity.

Customer:  “I’m looking for something that will make my wrinkles go away.”

What I want to say:  “We sell skincare, not time-traveling DeLoreans.”

Customer:  “Do you guys sell those flavored massage candles?”

Me:  “No.  We have massage oil and candles, but I wouldn’t recommend pouring this particular candle wax on anyone.”

Customer:  “It says these are ‘all natural’—does that mean it’s okay to eat?”

What I want to say:  “’All natural’ just means it comes from nature.  Slime mold, rat feces and poison oak are technically all natural.  Is it okay to eat those?”

Customer:  “This lotion made me break out all over my face!”

Me:  “That’s because this lotion isn’t meant to go on your face.  It’s body lotion.”

Customer:  “Well, your face is a part of your body.  They should state that this doesn’t go on your face.”

What I want to say:  “Toilet paper is marketed as ‘bath tissue.’  Am I to understand you take all product directions literally and use it in the bath?”

Customer:  “I want to buy a gift for my wife, but I don’t really know what she likes.”

What I want to say:  “If you don’t know what your wife likes, you should probably be buying something a lot nicer than bath products.  Like a giant diamond apology for not knowing the person that you married.”

Customer:  “I bought some blush here last time, but I really didn’t like it.”

Me:  “Okay.  Was it the color or the product itself that you didn’t like?”

Customer:  “It was the color.  I’d like to try this one.”  (She picks up a different type of blush, in the same color that she said she did not like.”

Me:  “Well, that’s the same color that you said you didn’t care for—would you perhaps like to try another color?”

Customer:  “No, since it’s a different type of blush, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

What I want to say:  “You know, trying the same thing and expecting different results is the definition of insanity.”

Curious gentleman:  “I’d like to apply for a job here.”

Co-worker:  “Do you have any experience with makeup or skincare?”

Curious gentleman:  “Yes—I won a modeling contest.”

What I want to say:  “Oh, I see how this works.  Excellent.  Well, I’m off to go pilot an airplane because I flew to New York one time.”

Consolation Prizes: Wherein I Compare Ladies to Dogs (in a good way)

So the other day, I was standing in line to get a cup of overpriced coffee (is there any other kind these days?) and I overheard a guy complaining to his friend about how these days, girls just don’t know how to take compliments. He cited his experience on a date, during which he had remarked to his lady friend that he liked her dress, and she had responded by snapping at him.  “I don’t get it,” I heard him say to his friend.  “It’s not like she was a bitch, she just got mad when I complimented her.”  His friend seemed to shrug it off.  “Girls just do that,” he said.  “No one knows why.  Because they all expect to be complimented, it’s just a lot of them are snarky about it.”

At this point, I could no longer resist feigning deafness and I turned around.  I sighed.  I nodded sagely.

“Consolation prize,” I said.

There was understandable confusion between the two gentlemen.

“That’s why no one takes compliments anymore.  More often than not, they’re offered up as consolation prizes to bad news.  For example:  ‘You’re very talented at what you do, but it’s not right for our company,’ or ‘You’re amazing, but I don’t want to date you.’  Things along those lines.  Much as they say that you shouldn’t trust flattery, compliments can be suspicious.  It’s like the silver medal, the second place ribbon, the certificate for participation—the consolation prize.”

“I didn’t follow it up with bad news, though.  I just wanted to tell her that she looked nice,” the man said, somewhat endearingly.

“Well done to you, sir!  And I mean that sincerely, not sarcastically.  May I offer some words of wisdom to you?  Getting a new girlfriend is sort of like adopting a dog from a shelter.  You don’t always know where they’ve been or if they’ve been mistreated, but proceed slowly and be consistent and they’ll eventually stop growling at you when you try to pet them.  I don’t really mean that literally, but you could totally take it that way.  Not that I mean women should be compared to abused dogs.  I’ve just been watching a lot of ‘Animal Cops: Houston’ lately and it seems appropriate.”

The man scrunched his eyebrows in a way that probably meant, “Why are you still talking to me, weird girl?” but that I chose to take as a look of, “Thank you for your wise advice, mysterious stranger.”

Because if there’s one that this animal has learned, it’s that you should take compliments where you can get them, whether they’re intended as consolation prizes or not.

(Did I just compare myself to a shelter dog?!  What-the-ef-ever.)

Paranoia is also what I do.

Me:  "I need you to mail me that book I let you borrow a few months ago."

Friendish:  "What the hell, TAB?  I'm like 3/4 of the way through it!  I'll send it when I'm done."

Me:  "No, I need it now.  I'm quitting TV again.  I need all the books I can get.  Lots of reading to do."

Friendish:  "Quitting TV?  Care to explain that one?"

Me:  "It's plotting against me."

Friendish:  "The TV is plotting against you."

Me:  "Yes."

Friendish:  "I'm gonna need more information."

Me:  "It's Saturday night.  I'm in my apartment alone.  You know what's on TV?  "He's Just Not That Into You" and "The Notebook" and a horror movie I saw on a date with an ex.  Do you see the plotting?"

Friendish:  "Right, yes.  You could, you know, leave the apartment and go be social with other human beings."

Me:  "We're discussing my television formulating plots to unhinge me emotionally and you think I'm in some condition to interact with others?  Without supervision?!"

Friendish:  "Good point.  So, drinking alone in your apartment again?"

Me:  "You know what?  Do what you know.  And damn, man, stop judging me."

Friendish:  "It's what I know."