Contrarian

My wife and I have discovered a new nemesis: the lotion people.

In the mall, there's a cart that sells lotion--it's called mystic flame, or eternal spark, or something like that. At any rate, it seems to be peopled by low-paid exchange students with bright, shiny personalities. Seriously, these kids have the kind of creepy, in your face happiness that one usually expects from Mormons and Hare Krishnas. They're like Moonies, but they aren't selling god, and I can't understand how they can be so buoyant when they're just foisting lotion on total strangers.


Actually, I don't mind the over-the-top, saccharine happiness all that much. What I really hate is the fact that they feel obliged to attack passers by with lotion and the exact same sales pitch:

Bright-faced young person from Latin America or Eastern Europe: "Excuse me, Sir, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Me: "No, go ahead."

Bright-faced young person from Latin America or Eastern Europe: "Have you finished your Christmas shopping yet?"

Me: "Not completely."

Bright-faced young person from Latin America or Eastern Europe: "Good, because you might want to try our new...blah, blah, blah...made with cow placenta...yackety-shmackety...incredibly rich...yadda, yadda, yadda...would bring Lenin himself back from the dead..."


The other possibility is that the smiling young moisturizer zombie approaches me with an open tube of lotion, asking if I want to try a free sample. Of course, I wouldn't mind lotion, but I have absolutely no intention of buying a tube of the crap. More to the point, I feel a little weird about people entering into my comfort zone with what is, essentially, lube. I know that this is probably my problem, but it doesn't change my irritation. What I REALLY want to do is make an incredibly rude suggestion, in the hopes that the kids will take their lotion elsewhere. However, my wife keeps telling me that unzipping my fly and shouting "Grease it up, Svetlana!" will probably get me kicked out of the mall and possibly arrested.


These kids have turned the middle of the mall into an official no-fly zone. I now find myself staring at walls, the floor, ANYTHING, in order to avoid eye contact. I'm not sure how, but this live-action Bennetton ad has made me feel like I'm wandering through a tent village, circa 1933. I don't want to make eye-contact, lest they ask me if I've got a dime. Ugh.


Manufactured emotion tends to affect me this way. When I listen to Christmas Carols, I can't help it--I have to critique the orchestration, the singing, and the questionable lyrics. When I see frighteningly earnest, disturbingly cheery kids, I immediately think about cults. When I see inspirational posters, my mind travels to Despair, Inc. It's not that I'm opposed to inspiration, or honesty, or Christmas Carols. Rather, I just get an itchy feeling in my colon when someone tries to manipulate my emotions. It ends up making me behave poorly, which makes me resentful.

Mostly, I just wish the little bastards would keep their lotion to themselves.