save me some room on the dirt floor

*Edited, thanks to Meredith. Shame on me for not proof-reading.

There's only one thing that makes me feel slightly worse than drinking Starbucks as I walk by a homeless person:

employees at mall kiosks.

I can't think of very many jobs worse than standing in between the Cinnabon and American Eagle, trying to get people to stop and try some new miracle-working face serum. There are two extremes of the kiosk employee. They could take the stalker approach, following you halfway down the corridor trying to convince you that a life isn't worth living without a new cover for your cell phone. Or, they take the "I'm a 16-year-old girl who can't be bothered to get my ass off this backless stool, let alone put my cell phone down." Either way, seems like a sad existence.

So yesterday, as I wandered the 3rd floor of the Towson Town Center, I gave into a particularly aggressive kiosker from the SEACRET beauty products neck of the woods. She had the speech memorized: use the buffer for just 3 minutes every two weeks, I should treat myself to something special, it's a great gift idea for the holidays, if I bought it today I could get two 4-piece nail kits for the price of one. She was pushy, and at times I wanted to push over her lotion samples and get the hell out of dodge.

But since I was at the mall to de-stress from a particularly taxing day of teaching, I thought I would give her a chance and not take my bad day out on the innocent kiosker. After all, we all have to put food on the table. I didn't buy the nail set (my generousity of spirit only goes so far). But I thought about it, if for nothing else to absolve my soul from the guilt of years of hurried paces and skillful avoidance of eye contact. And to think, I could've gotten two souls absolved for the price of one...