Why are we middle-aged women such suckers for smooth talking salesmen? It bothers me that I'm still a gullible schoolgirl at heart. At my age, I really should know better. The following incident is an example of what I mean!
Picture the scene, I'm walking down Robson Street, Vancouver, laden down with shopping bags from Winners and Homesense, shops where you find fabulous for less, or so the catchphrase goes. I had a list of things to get before returning to Victoria on the afternoon ferry. There was just one item I couldn't find, which was a hairdryer and flat iron organizer for Vicky's bathroom. Passing a beauty salon, I decided to go in, and enquire if they had any.
"Do you sell hair styling organizers?" I asked the Manager of the store, a short dark haired man with flirty brown eyes, and a tongue as smooth as the Big Bad Wolf's.
"OMG - your eyes - you have the most beautiful eyes" he said, taking me by surprise. "They have two colours" he continued, reaching into my private bubble space, close enough for me to notice he ate garlic last night. 'Don't worry, I'm Gay" he said. Actually I wasn't worrying. I was old enough to be his mammy.
"Thank you" I responded, genuinely moved by his compliment. "My eyes turn green when I cry, and blue when I'm happy, but do you have a hairdryer organizer? That's what I'm really looking for."
"Wow, what skincare do you use?" he said, totally ignoring my enquiry,
"Prevage, why?"
"C'mon with me Madam" he said, taking my gullible little hand, leading me down to the back of the store, a perfumed paradise with tall exotic vases of flowers, and a waterfall. "I have a special treat for you because you are nice". How does he know I'm nice? We only met three minutes ago.
Before long I was sitting pretty on a high chair, receiving Raz's special treat. It was an eye serum magic trick. "Now you look" he said, after the job was complete, spinning my chair in front of the mirror, like I was a candidate in a makeover show. To be honest, I looked the same, but didn't want to hurt his feelings because of the free serum treatment he had given me, worth a fortune if I had to pay for it - or so he said!
"Which eye you like best?" he asked in his broken English. The eye that's not hurting I thought to myself. Why on earth did I endure such crapology? especially when I had to be on the ferry for Victoria in 2 hours, and tons to do yet. What followed was a fierce attempt on Raz's part to make me part with $700 for a bottle of his magic eye serum. I resisted and told him I was not a lady to impulse shop - joke!!
"Are my bags safe?" I asked him, glancing at my Winners and Homesense bags flung casually on the ground near the front entrance.
"Madam, there are no gypsies around here" he responded in a wounded voice. I had insulted him. Seeing I wasn't interested in the eye serum, he persisted. He walked over to a cabinet and removed a velvet covered box from a shelf and presented it to me like it was a priceless bottle of champagne, or cigars for Arnold Schwarzenegger. The box contained miniature bottles of face serum. "What price do you think these are"? he continued, getting weirder by the minute. How would I know?
"$2,000" he answered for me. "And how much do you think a face lift would cost you"? "Nothing" I told him, because I would never have one. Clearly, he was getting nowhere with me, yet he persisted like a bulldog fighting for a bone. Looking at the clock, I realized I'd miss my ferry if I didn't escape! I hopped off his fancy high chair and made a run for the door. I told him I had to fly.
"Wait madam, I'll make you a deal because I like you" he said, running after me, and at the same time wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead. Poor man. He really did work hard for the money. "What you want to give me?" he asked again with great persistence. Feeling sorry for him (worse reason to buy something!) I bought a flatiron holder from him for $40 and when he offered me a second one at half price I thought why not? I'll give the other one to Ali or Claudia. After the transaction I literally ran out of his shop. On my way home I passed London Drugs where I found exactly what I was looking for - a hairdryer and flatiron holder for $20! The smooth talking salesman had fleeced me!!
When I told Vicky my sad story, she was livid that this fellow had pulled the wool over my eyes - or should I say serum!! We marched back to the store and I was proud as punch at the way she handled him. He did not want to give us our money back. Fortunately, Vicky read him the rights as per a sign in his shop "money back with receipt". He reluctantly, and after much argument, gave us our money back. No Mr. nice guy this time!
What a waste of time, money and energy. The moral of the story 'Do not be blinded by a sweet talking salesman who tells you that you've beautiful eyes!!
Will I ever learn?
Hugs,
Polly P xxx
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