Caterwauling

Subtitle: Spray, delay, walk run the hell away

In my earlier post about perfume shopping, “A rose by any other name,” I had mentioned that there was a fragrance I really, REALLY wanted.

Enough time has passed, and my coveting of this perfume has not ceased. So in my journeys today, I decided I had to have it.

Now, I know how to buy — and apply — perfume. But people do not exactly know how to SELL it.

I am the world’s best customer (when I want to be, of course). I do my research and know exactly what I want when I walk in. I do not fuck around — give me what I want and then I will leave.

I started by asking for a sample vial of this fragrance. Notice I said a VIAL, not a “please nuke me with this shit.” Alas, though, I live in an area where people do not speak great English; either that or common courtesy is simply severely lacking.

In any case, I was told there were no take-home samples. Fine, then. I said I wanted to buy the small bottle (for just shy of a Benjamin Franklin, egads — I have expensive taste).

Now, you’ve gotten the clue that I have made up my mind that I wish to purchase this item, no? I have decided that I deserve to treat myself to something that is going to make me feel good and is going to last for quite some time. My mind has been made up to live with it and to love it. I was going to take it home WITHOUT SNIFFING IT because I knew what it smelled like.

Until. …

Crazy Perfume Bitch decided to take the tester bottle from the counter, and she aimed it at me. Taken aback, the only thing I could croak out was, “Coat!” because my mom just sent me a brand-new leather coat on Wednesday (my younger cat annhilated my last one by jumping ON my coat rack at home and shredding it — I was heartbroken and am so thrilled to have a replacement).

So the bitch yanked the coat back and sprayed the shit SEVEN times. SEVEN. Onto my chest. Luckily, my little glittery brown tank top is low-cut enough that it didn’t get damaged in the nuking, but it sure stinks of this fragrance.

Here’s the deal — the perfume? Gorgeous. Has vanilla, patchouli and sandalwood undertones. I mean, if you come to my apartment, I am likely burning all of the above in the form of incense and/or candles.

After I paid for my once-coveted perfume, I shot to a restroom and furiously scrubbed my skin. I mean, who the FUCK sprays their chest, No. 1, and No. 2, SEVEN TIMES??!?!

Seriously, there are many ways to apply a fragrance. When you’re doing body splashes and lotions and oil mists and such, spritzing the chest is appropriate.

But with intense fragrances, you only want to hit your pulse points (wrists, an inch below your earlobes, perhaps the backs of your knees if you are going out for the evening). Sometimes you can hit the cleavage, but from a twee bit lower.

What you DON’T do is waste the equivalent of two months’ worth of perfume till you have a veritable RIVER running down to your navel.

My throat actually hurts right now from that supreme display of bullshit. And that bitch got COMMISSION?!?! I have half a mind to return it to another store — why reward assholitry with cash?

Even after I scrubbed myself raw, I had three Mexican dudes trailing me around the damn mall. I mean, I couldn’t get rid of them. Incidentally, I’d grabbed lunch at Taco Bell just before this debacle — perhaps they could smell that past the cloud o’perfume? 😉

This entry was posted on Saturday, October 22nd, 2005 at 9:02 PM and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.