Sex sells.....salt?

© Saint David Hartman

     It's not often you get relationship advice from a stranger at the mall. But Daria was a piece of work Monday night. And I must say, her advice sounds pretty solid.
     After spending a good five minutes washing my hands with Dead Sea salt and buffing my thumbnail, Daria asked me if I was married. I told the truth. "Do you have a girlfriend?" was the follow-up. I lied, but only because I knew where this was going. I walked this road about a month ago with another sales girl at the Dead Sea Premier Cosmetics kiosk at Quail Springs Mall. When they see you coming, they're relentless.
     "Do you know how to tell if she's a good girlfriend?" Daria asked in her flirty voice, her bright wide smile mere inches from my face. I'm pretty sure she still has her tonsils-- she was that close. And that's way too close for a first sales date. At least she hadn't eaten onions for supper.
     There were so many ways this could go, and this was a ride I wasn't going to miss.
     "Umm, no. Do tell. How can I know if she's a good girlfriend?" I asked, trying to act like she was about to give me some important, make-or-break relationship insight.
     "When you come home from a hard day at work, soak your feet for about 15 minutes in warm water," Daria explained. "Then you ask your girlfriend to rub your feet with this salt. If she will do it, she's a good girlfriend.

The $70 salt.

     "But if she won't, you need to move on quick," she warned, clinging to my soft, smooth hand, freshly washed in Dead Sea salt.
     "You're lucky to have a girlfriend, David," she said. "I'm still looking for the right man," she winked.
     Oh please. Now she's creeping me out. And she won't ....let...go.....of my hand. I was ready to move on to the next phase.
     I knew the next phase, because I've done this before. Now we were going to negotiate the price for the happiness this magic salt would bring.
     She turned my palm up. Wouldn't turn it loose, mind you, but turned it up so she could place a jar of the magic salt in my hand. In the rental car business, we call that "assuming the sale." Inside the jar was one full year of salt treatments, she assured. I looked at the jar. There couldn't have been three-quarters of a cup of salt in this jar -- none of it from the Dead Sea I'm guessing -- and you'd be lucky to get 60 days out of it.
      She was going to make it mine for just $69.99. I smiled, stifling a laugh. I was able to stifle this time because I knew the starting price already. The first time, I couldn't stifle.
     But wait......there's more. Back up a minute. After the salt wash, she had me rub some "body butter" into my hands. I'm thinkin' it's the same stuff you get at Wal-Mart for $5 a bottle. You know, cocoa butter or shea butter or whatever they call it. But this was Dead Sea body butter, and it was mine for just $59.99. What a deal.

The $60 body butter

     On this stop at the kiosk, Daria did something the first girl didn't. Well, besides putting all of her business way up in my business in the middle of the mall. She also buffed my right thumbnail with some kind of bar. Made it all shiny. Promised me the nail would stay shiny for two weeks. One shiny nail. Just what I need. For the next two weeks I can walk up to people, hold out my hands and say "which of these nails is not like the others?" Maybe we'll sing the Sesame Street song together.
     Because it was my lucky day, I'd get the nail buffer bar, a cheap pair of clippers and some kind of cuticle thingy I wouldn't have a clue what to do with -- three years worth of shiny nails -- for just $59.99.
     She took out a calculator, violated my personal space again, and stroked the keys. 7, 0 + 6, 0 + 6, 0 = $190.
     "I don't think I can afford that," I said, knowing I wouldn't have to. Daria explained she had a long day. I could tell. Looked like she overslept and got dressed in a hurry, because there were a couple of shirt buttons she missed. I was gonna be a gentleman and point that out. But I'd already given myself over to lying, what's the harm in a little leering, too?
     She needed to make a sale. So for me, she'd sell me the salt for $50, the butter for $50 and give me the nail set. She pulled out the calculator again, showing me how she was willing to slice $90 off the price for nothing more than an "I can't afford it." To drive the point home, we divided $100 by 12. That's just eight bucks and change a month. Divide that by four. Just two bucks a week.
     "Well, maybe I'll come back and see you on payday," I lied, for the second time in five minutes. The preacher is right. Lying does get easier the more you do it. That's dangerous.
     She tried the three-for-two. Now I knew it was time for the two-for-one. She put the nail kit away. "For you, David, I'll sell you the salt for $59 and you can have the body butter for free."

The camera doesn't do it justice.
It really is shiny.

    I didn't immediately answer. I wanted to see what was next.
    "Your girlfriend, David. Do you spoil her?" I wasn't expecting her to revisit the fictional girlfriend, and it took me a moment to remember I had one.
     I nodded.
     "It's a great present for her. You can do something really special for her. You can rub it all over," she said.
     Oh boy.
     "Y-you m-m-mean all over her h-hands, right?" I stammered, playing innocent.
     She laughed. "No, David. You can rub it all...over. Give her a massage. It's a great natural healer for the whole body."
     I'm pretty sure I turned red. I'm certain I felt sadness and relief, all in one tangled emotion. I don't have the greatest job in the world, and sometimes I let that mess with my self-esteem. But at least I'm not talking dirty to middle-aged guys in a busy mall for minimum wage plus commission. I knew it was just about time to bring our little spa tease to a close.
    "You can afford this, David," she assured me. Then she stepped back, eying me from head to toe. "You look like you're worth a million bucks."
     Lying's not only habit-forming, it's contagious.
     I mean look at me. No, seriously. Scroll up and look at me.  I was no prize 25 years and 70 pounds ago, and the decades haven't exactly been my friend. I'm standing there in a t-shirt, cheap faded jeans and $15 Wal-Mart sneakers that have holes in both big toes, and she's trying to make me feel like a movie star.
     And it worked. For a moment, I did feel kind of like Chevy Chase in Vacation. You know, the part where he's trying to convince Christie Brinkley that he's the owner of a hotel chain and that Beverly D'Angelo, the kids and the Queen Family Truckster are all just a disguise. Maybe she was right. I'm tired of pretending I'm not Donald freaking Trump from Mars.
     This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy.
     "You can have the salt for $29," she conceded.
     "I can't today," I answered, agreeing to take her business card and revisit her on payday. Technically I didn't lie, because I didn't say which payday.
     Accepting defeat, she let go of my hand and got out of my face, but handed me her card. I showed her the prominent spot in my wallet where I put it. A place where I won't forget.
     And I won't forget. Because now I wanna see just how cheaply I can get it. The salt I mean. Maybe I'll go back tomorrow night and see if I can talk her down to $19.99.
     Of course, she is single. That's what she said. She'd never lie to me, I'm sure, except for that million bucks nonsense. So maybe I'll go back tomorrow and make her a deal. I'll take the salt for $30, then after work, we'll go back to her place so I can soak my feet awhile. Then I'll hand her the salt and see if she passes the 'good girlfriend' test.
     If she rubs my feet, then something tells me I'm into something good. If not, I'll just take her advice, dump her like a dishrag and return the salt to a different kiosk in a different mall.
     If I act like I lost my receipt, maybe I'll get full price back for it. It's only fair.