Lena and I were walking through the mall over the weekend, when we were accosted by yet another cell phone salesman in a kiosk in the center of the thoroughfare. Um… before I go on I’d like to ask a favor of all of you here. Please stop talking to these asshats. They are obviously making money, that’s why there are so many of them. But I hate them, and I can’t be the only one. I want to grab the perfume bottle away from the girl trying to spray innocent passersby and use it to mace these guys in the eyes. I am not in the mall to talk to you! If I were, I’d be talking to you!


So Lena and I are walking through the mall and this cell phone guy leaps over towards us. I turn and say “NO!” as he begins asking us if we’d like to have our time wasted by his smarmy, gold-chain-wearing, used-car-salesman self.

“Are you sure?” he asks my back.

“What?” I said, spinning around. “Did something make you think I wasn’t absolutely sure I didn’t want to have anything to do with you?”

“Hey man, you’re a funny guy! You got a cell phone? Who’s your carrier?”

I stood silent, considering this as he moved into his patter. The thought occurred to me that these guys might get better results hitting folks moving awayfrom the food court rather than towards. Was that why I was so suddenly angry? Was it really not this guy’s fault? Had I jumped too fast for the big, red button of fury? Was I just too hungry to be bothered?

While I stood thinking about whether this admittedly much too full of himself idiot truly deserved me punching him in the fake-gold teeth or not, Lena took the question out of my hands entirely. Stepping between me and the slicked up curls of the cell phone sales guy, she whipped out her iPhone and said, “Hey, you have any phones that’ll do this?” At that she hit a button on the face of her own phone causing it to turn a white-hot red color and emit the Boosh! noise of an igniting light saber.

Mr. Italian suit knockoff blinked at her for a beat, and then resumed his line. Every time he tried to speak however, Lena would flick out her hand, resulting in a VVvvvrrrr…KRASH! Vvvwoommmm… SKASH! Gamely, he kept trying to talk as the light saber crashed and peeyowed off of blaster fire and enemy sabers inches from his eyes, finally smiling wanly and asking, “Oh, is that an iPhone?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re not really in the market now. Bye.”

I know it was kinda mean, and I know we shouldn’t have done it… but I never laughed so much eating at the food court. Lena and I could barely swallow ourBig Easy Cajun Cuisine without bursting into gales of fresh laughter.

But next time I’m still bringing mace.

One Response to 312-Searching?

  1. Might not work for a guy, but when one of these cell-phone sales D-bags won’t take no for an answer, people could always try yelling for security. I actually found it to be quite effective when this Jerk from AT&T pursued me about 50 yards, and grabbed my arm, even after I said NO three times. As soon as I shrieked HELP!!! SECURITY!!! he let go and started apologizing.