Aggressive Sales Tactics for Spa Treatments

I was at the San Francisco Shopping Centre when I heard a woman’s voice call out to me, “Sir, do you know what the Dead Sea is?”

The voice is from a sales clerk at one of those boutique trolleys. Before I had a chance to answer, she grabbed my arms, “Come here.”

She asked me to reach out with my palms forward and she dumped two scoops of salty, gelitine mash into my hands. “Rub them together, vigorously.”

I did. It was some kind of spa defoliate. “I am from Israel. People come from all over the world to go to the Dead Sea to cure all kinds of skin diseases. This will help you. Just look! You have very dry skin.”

I was still taken a back by the whole approach and was utterly dumbfounded, just meekly following along. I looked at the woman talking and noticed that she was slim, dark, short, and what can be considered as attractive. At the moment, though,http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=10391823# I was just internally offended and wanted out. But I still had this gunky salt slush all over my hand.

“Okay,” she pushed my hands over a basin and poured water from a cistern over my hands, “now feel. Have you ever felt your hands so smooth?”

I have. But I told her I haven’t.

Before I can formulate the thought of pulling away, she massage goo on the back of my forearms. “You cannot use the salt with face. But this is gel and it does the same thing. I won’t put it on your face but I will show you on your arm.”

It was a very strange moment. I can almost imagine kinky business execs paying thousands of dollars to be in the same position that I was.

“Look at all the dead skin coming out of your arm, eh.”

I looked around to see if other people at the mall was looking at this. I feel a little accosted, a little intruded upon. Finally she was done and she swab my arm with cotton pads.

“I want you to see. Compare this arm with your other arm. Isn’t it more smooth, more beautiful?”

She started placing jars of her product into my still outstretch hands. Time to go, I told myself. And I acted like I was having a panic attack.

“I had to go back to my hotel,” I said, and ran off.

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