February 23, 2008 by Keli.

We all slip up once in a while by either saying or doing something stupid. This is nothing to be ashamed of. I say this, recalling that when I was a neophyte attorney, I once asked a seasoned lawyer an irregular question. The mere recollection of my query still makes me wince; it was so prodigiously stupid of me. Don’t ask me to repeat it because I won’t. (However, rest assured, that for a small fee, I can be convinced).

The more we speak and act without thinking, the greater the risk of appearing, and actually becoming, stupid. Sometimes, words or situations escape our grasp. We may be distracted, tired, naive (as in the case of my own wayward question) or otherwise mentally distraught, causing us to act like stupers (short, again, for soberingly stupid persons).

Authentic humans should acknowledge their own stupidity. But we rarely see this practice in action because of the fear of being permanently branded a stuper under the rules of polite society. Being viewed by others as a stuper can imperil our self-image as well as the image we convey to others. I plummeted several feet in the eyes of the seasoned attorney upon posing my idiotic question, and never again regained my footing in his eyes. I know what I’m talking about.

Words and actions depict us, furnishing the elements of our personalities. These same words and actions can also deform us, if not properly presented. I experienced a near miss yesterday while volunteering at the library. I was placed in charge of tracing missing books, a task for which I seemed to have an uncanny knack. The head librarian gleefully patted me on the back because I’d located books they’d been seeking for weeks.  I became known as the Book Hunter.

Soon after, I found yet another missing tome, and then did something that could have smirched my reputation. I put the damn book down somewhere and suddenly found myself a victim of ROA (Rapid Onset Amnesia). I retraced my steps (or what I thought could have been my steps), and thankfully, the matter of my stupidity remained private; I’d inadvertently shelved the book while pausing to skim a few paragraphs of another. I do that sometimes; just enough to give me an opinion of the book so I can converse intelligently about it. Anyway, I emerged untarnished.

Stupidity happens. But if we train ourselves to learn from stuper moments and not repeat ludicrous actions, we have nothing to be ashamed of.

Think first, last and always.

Keli

Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity, Well Meaning stupidity | 4 Comments »

February 5, 2008 by Keli.

Some of us have developed the habit of completing another’s thought during a conversation by finishing the sentence for him/her. Although this is not a telltale sign of stupidity, it is an indicator of impatience and an attempt to rush the speaker along.

I’d like to share this letter with readers:

Dear Keli,

I am thirty-four years old and consider myself intelligent and a good listener. But I have a quirk that I think makes me look like a stuper. I have a tendency to finish other people’s sentences for them. I never noticed it until I sat in the doctor’s office. I finished a couple of Dr. M’s sentences for him, and he nearly had a fit. You see, I’d finished them all wrong. He practically blew up. He told me to stop it, or he would stop treating me.

That was two days ago. I haven’t spoken a word out loud since. I’m scared that I will try to finish other people’s sentences. This problem is not big enough to see a shrink about (at least I hope not). What should I do?

Somewhat Out-of Control in Leawood, Kansas

First of all, for new readers, I’d like to point out that stuper is short for an obviously stupid person. Here is my response:

Dear Somewhat:

I have good news: finishing other’s sentences is a simple habit, easy to break, and not stupidity. I’ve done it myself in the past, thinking it demonstrated understanding and support of the speaker. Not necessarily so. It can be annoying when the sentence is completed wrong.

If you should find yourself about to finish a sentence for another, start counting instead. Not out loud, but silently. Count to six, making sure you allow the speaker to continue. Holding your breath during the count is not necessary.

You may believe that finishing another’s sentence shows interest in what some one is saying. And you may wonder, how else can I show this? Come up with comments or questions to ask once the talk is done. Also, you may knit your brows during the conversation to indicate presence of thought; smile, nod, or frown at appropriate times to demonstrate active listening skills. These simple techniques will keep conversations flowing.

Take time to think.

Keli
Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity, Well Meaning stupidity | 5 Comments »

January 29, 2008 by Keli.

I’ve been receiving a recurring complaint from readers expressing their unmitigated frustration at presumptuous stupers (yet again, a term for uncontrollably stupid persons) who insist on giving unsolicited advice. These stupers believe there’s only one right way to live: their way. Here’s a sample e-mail (shortened for brevity):

Dear Keli,

My sister-in-law, Hortense, is a complete stuper. You see, we have boys the same age. Whatever activity her son, Herman, participates in, she insists mine do the same. Herman loves soccer. Hortense says that if I don’t enroll my child in soccer, I’ll be making a huge mistake. I keep telling her, we tried it and didn’t like it, but Hortense just shakes her head at me like I’m crazy. She does this with everything. She discovered religion three years ago and now her family goes to church every Sunday. We don’t. I’m constantly reminded that we’ll be going to Hell. She makes me feel like I’m a bad mom and a bad person. I’m so upset!

Sincerely,

Can’t Take it Anymore in Cincinnati

Stupidity can be annoyingly meddlesome. At the risk of causing offense, I believe some stupers have a knack of making going to hell sound like a pleasure trip. Mainly because they won’t be there. Hortense may have discovered Jesus a few years ago, but it appears she misplaces Him at her convenience. Tolerance is not part of stupidity’s itinerary.

This is my response:

Dear Can’t Take It:

I’m sorry to hear of your stuper troubles. I have a relevant question for you: What would you do if you’d just lay down to rest and from nowhere (as stupers are wont to do) appears a rough, itchy, heavy blanket that lands right atop your resting body? Would you continue to lie there or fling off the worthless burden, leap out of bed, and possibly, if so motivated, tear said blanket to bits? Of course, this can be done in a more placid manner as well, meaning you may calmly get up and remove the ponderous blankie, then return to your repose and more important matters.

If I may borrow a few words from a speech by Churchill, there’s no room for the “…weakling, for the shirker, or the sluggard” when it comes to stupidity. I feel certain Hortense empties the contents of her meager mind because you appear to be easy prey.

I suggest you use your words, and as few as possible, to tell Hortense to buzz off. You are at an advantage since you seem to know what to expect from her. If you don’t feel like speaking to her, nod your head and smile (smile is optional) when she offers her so-called advice. She’ll get bored and stop. If you give her a reaction, she’ll continue, as stupidity loves attention.

I’ve found most stupers really do talk too much. They are clueless about the power of their words. Even thinkers who take advantage of the telephone, the internet and other modern everyday luxuries, usually take the words they utter for granted. Why not take advantage of our words? Stupers don’t use them well which is all the more reason why the rest of us should. There is a great power behind words. They shape our circumstances - and our lives.

Watch your words. And watch out for Stupers giving advice.

Keli
Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Religious stupidity, Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity, Well Meaning stupidity | 4 Comments »

December 31, 2007 by Keli.

I saw it leaning against a shelf, forlorn and forgotten, getting colder by the second. Cheerful employees maniacally buzzed to and fro right in front of it. I knew the generic plastic white bag, and all its contents, belonged to me.

Meanwhile, I helplessly watched, vying for the title of most neglected customer. I needed attention. I tried waving my hands above my head in the crowded shop; lying stomach down on the stainless steel countertop and flailing my arms and legs; displaying a whopping white flag and shouting “Excuse me!” none of which offered solace or garnered assistance. The grapefruit size silver hoop earrings worn by the man behind me got more notice.

We were on our way to a movie theater; I had ordered take-out from a popular burger place. As is customary when my family attends movies, I carried a handbag the size of the state of Rhode Island; perfect for filling with our own delectables. Who needs Skittles, Raisinets or the standard vat of school-bus hued popcorn?

Damn! All I wanted was my already paid for order. A projected fifteen minute wait had stretched to thirty, and I was on a schedule. Stupers (short for unfeasibly stupid persons) stood between our theatrical feast and me.

I’d been waiting for the customer before me to get her pecan pie order and leave. Slicing a piece evidently required as much preparation and clearance as securing a taxi for Mr. President. The worker in charge of cutting the pie polished his knife so carefully, that when he paused to view his image in it, he smiled and stated, “I could practically count my nose hairs on this thing.”

The actual slicing and dishing out took a solid three minutes. I could wait no longer. I felt bitter and alone. Visions of screaming uncontrollably danced in my head.

Fortunately, the bitterness didn’t last long. While grousing about the shop’s imperfections, I came to an understanding. All the employees looked happy and hard working. They were doing their best. Granted, I was in a rush and my order was only six feet away from me. So what if the hamburgers and fries were lukewarm? They’d hardly stay hot on our trek to the theater anyway. Would I be happier if I threw an enormous tantrum, demanded my money back and gave a lengthy lecture on the care and handling of waiting customers? Maybe. But I knew that if I took their lack of prompt, efficient, attentive service in stride and displayed kindness instead of madness, I’d feel happier.

I lassoed the dedicated latte-making employee and asked her, very pleasantly, to hand over my order. She said, “I’ll have to get someone else to do that for you.” But when she realized that all she had to do was grab and pass, she gave me my bag. (Oh, don’t worry; I untied her before I left).

As with most relationships, you take the good with the stupid. I knew I was right. It was no great challenge for any one of the four employees to pause a few seconds from taking an order or a payment or to reach out between creating cappuccinos to give me my order. But I also knew that sometimes, it’s better to be kind than right.

I sincerely hope that I’ve set a good example of tolerance and patience for my dear, intelligent readers. Happy New Year and my very best wishes to all!

Keep thinking!

Keli

Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Well Meaning stupidity | 7 Comments »

December 27, 2007 by Keli.

Waiting in line at a department store on the day after Christmas is as natural an occurrence as quills on a porcupine. It is to be expected. Stupers (short, yet again, for unflinchingly stupid persons) do not comprehend this. They regard it as highly irregular and an affront to their unwavering sense of impatience.

Yesterday, I returned seven items in the men’s section of a store. When my turn arrived to be assisted, two marvelously capable workers helped me. My entire transaction took no more than four minutes. During this period, I glanced behind me. A queue of five people had formed consisting of:

1. A small, quiet, resigned fellow who exuded enough patience for the entire city of Buffalo, New York;
2. Two large ladies, one of whom favored the size and shape of a small elephant (think Babar, without the jaunty crown); the other resembled a cross between a candy cane and cement truck; and

3. A foreign couple whose accent was indeterminate.

My focus remained mostly on the completion of my transaction, but I managed to catch a smattering of chatter between the foreign couple. As my 3.5 readers know, “striped” is a one- syllable word. However, this couple pronounced it as two syllables - “stri-ped.”

“There’s a nice stri-ped shirt over there.” “Do you like those stri-ped pants?” and so on.

I barely noticed this quaint chitchat until the cement truck-like woman interrupted them and announced, “It’s not stri-ped. It’s striped!”

Silence ensued, long enough to tie a sneaker. Then the woman continued,

“You should know that you’ve been saying it all wrong. It’s striped! Not stri-ped.”

Silence again ensued, long enough to tie the other shoe.

Then the couple continued their conversation, “Do you like stri-ped pants?” “I prefer a stri-ped shirt.”

I chose that very moment to turn and face the group behind me. I apologized, saying,

“I’m very sorry to be taking so long.”

The responses were,

“No problem.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“Do not worry. It gives us a chance to browse the selection of stri-ped clothing.”

“Well!”

This last comment came out in one great huff from the cement truck-size lady, who, as you may have guessed, was a stuper. That one word indicated that I had no business returning so many items (to which I heartily agreed; but the men in my life are exasperatingly fickle when it comes to wardrobe).

In a span of a few short minutes, stupidity revealed itself. Take note of how the chatty couple dealt with the stuper. They refused to acknowledge her existence, continued their quest for stri-ped clothes and maintained their sense of well-being. They regarded stupidity as they would a pothole in the road. It existed for barely a moment. Once passed, it was readily forgotten.

Think first, last and always.

Keli

Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Holiday Stupidity, Well Meaning stupidity | 6 Comments »

December 19, 2007 by Keli.

Are you familiar with the adage “if charity is worth doing, it should begin as far away from home as possible and preferably on the other side of the world where it can be combined with a little vacation time and fun?” (Excuse me while I take a breath). I sincerely hope you are not familiar with this saying. Otherwise, you’d fall into the undesirably dense category of stuper (short again for a deplorably stupid person).

My dear friend Becky, practices law. She manages to escape once per month for a week to visit her elderly father who lives eight hours away in a nursing home for veterans. As you may imagine, Becky is a generous, kindhearted person.

Becky’s older sister, Dana, also a lawyer, does not visit Dad more than once annually. Poor Dana has no time, gosh darn it. Her newfound religion requires her to take far-flung missions to spread the teachings of her faith. Last year, she traveled to China and got to see the Great Wall. And before that, a ski trip to the Swiss Alps was in order. She’s thinking of the Greek isles for next year. Although her father calls and tells her he misses her, Dana knows he understands. People who live on the other side of the earth are just as important as ailing Daddy. Actually, according to Dana, they’re more important.

Then there’s Melissa who lives ten minutes away from her grandparents. They see her at family gatherings every so often. They’d like to see more of her, but Melissa is very involved in her junior league charity work. It’s a wonderful organization that throws posh parties, proper teas and even arranges Caribbean cruises for members…when they’re not distributing cans and gathering scarves for the homeless, of course. Granny and Grandpa just aren’t as fun as Melissa’s charity group pals.

Stupers have a sort of brain fog when it comes to charity. To be meaningful, volunteer type activity for stupers must involve more than just helping others. And it’s far more interesting when aid involves people they don’t know.

If you keep your eyes and ears open (unlike stupers who have about as much awareness as a split pea), you’ll notice there are always people who need help: the older man without a cell phone who’d like to make a quick call, but isn’t allowed to use the store phone; the weary looking lady behind you in line at the market with only one or two items; or the forlorn faced person who could use a friendly smile. And for more formal charitable work, there’s the public library, local homeless shelter, the Humane Society, senior center, Boys and Girls’ Clubs…

Stop and think about what you’re doing…or not doing.

Keli

Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Religious stupidity, Well Meaning stupidity | 7 Comments »

December 9, 2007 by Keli.

The most obvious means of dodging the distress stemming from encounters with stupers (short yet again, for brazenly stupid persons) is to stay at home, alone, locking all means of entry and treating the phone like a rabid raccoon. Alas, this is as possible as boarding the Titanic.

During the holiday season, there’s a surge in brushes with stupers, especially when attending soirées, and positively if relatives of the seldom seen variety are present. These are the ones who, though infrequent visitors, expect to be regarded as priests in the confessional. They want to hear all. Consequently, I’m offering a quick refresher course on ways to maintain sanity when asked Questions from Hell. Of course, a sign may be worn around the neck, which reads: Do Not Disturb. But it’s unlikely, no, improbable, that stupers would get the message.

A close cousin of mine, Alice, recently got a divorce. Hence, she avoided all family gatherings in order to bypass an inquest by relatives. Queries were directed to me instead.

Stuper: Why did Alice and Ted break up?

Me: I don’t know.

When a stuper asks a question that is none of her business and/or one you do not wish to discuss, it’s okay to play the part of a stuper yourself. Merely look wide-eyed and slowly trail the end of your response upwards two or three octaves; then bring it suddenly back down at the last possible second, while slightly shaking your head in obvious wonder. The different tones along with the head motion can cause a slightly hypnotic effect on the stuper, rendering them (hopefully) speechless. During this interval, tiptoe to safety.

Stuper: How much does your husband make?

Me: Oh that reminds me. My kids’ 4-H club is having a See’s Candy fundraiser. How many boxes would you like to buy?

This defense response somewhat resembles an eye for an eye. Should a stuper put you on the spot, don’t be afraid to do the same to them. That should keep them from approaching you for awhile (at least twelve-fifteen minutes).

Stuper: How come you’re not practicing law anymore? (I can never escape a function without being subjected to this weary query.)

Me: I’ve become really good at borrowing money from family members and friends to keep me afloat. Can you loan me ten grand?

Use this last one in an emergency. Attempting to borrow money works like a charm for getting rid of a stuper in a hurry.

I don’t mind questions. But those of a personal or intimate nature should come only from close, loved ones. Not sporadic, stuper relatives/acquaintances.

You can’t teach a person to think. But you can find ways to distract them during probing questioning without being rude, using the above techniques.

If none of the tips for deflecting relentless prying suits your style, you might choose a simpler response: “I’ll get back to you on that later.” This provides a polite and speedy escape.

Think first, last and always!

Keli

Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity, Relative stupidity, Well Meaning stupidity | 3 Comments »

November 10, 2007 by Keli.

Stupidity is often obvious, like the malodorous scent of a skunk. Other times, it’s subtle, mild, undefined and slips in unexpectedly from typically trusty sources, such as parents, dear friends, mentors, teachers, beauticians or mail carriers. In my case, all conspired to change the course I’d chosen for myself.

Just prior to graduating law school, I was exceedingly fortunate in obtaining an almost perfect job. I loved my extraordinary boss. She hired me despite my being an average student from an average school whose talent, if it existed, was completely hidden to the naked eye.

I worked my way from an intern to a law clerk to a lawyer for a company that represented the movie/TV studios in labor negotiations. There was just one problem. I detested labor law like I detested finding a stray hair dangling from my mouth after an innocent bite of salad. My boss generously allowed me to continue to work for her while I hunted down the right job.

I desired a spot as business affairs counsel for a studio. My attainment of this position seemed as likely as my growing a beanstalk, climbing up and sharing a mug of hot chocolate with Jack’s giant. To succeed in my endeavor, I needed either: an ivy league degree, gilt-edged law firm experience, inside knowledge of the secret fetish of an important movie executive (not yet known by the rags), adoption by a Brangelina type couple or willingness to engage in unmentionable activities (as this is a PG-13 rated blog).

Not one to stand still, I opted to take virtually every business affairs attorney in town to lunch in an attempt to display my sparkling personality and to convince them that I was the chosen one. I ended up with empty pockets.

I did manage to nab several interviews, however. Even second and third interviews where I was certain the job was in the bag. Unfortunately, none panned out. My last one was particularly irksome in that I forgot how to speak English for a few brief moments while meeting with the head guy, a name brand producer.

“Nice to meese you,” I said charmingly after we were introduced.

Needless to say, I wasn’t even asked to sit down.

I’d made little headway. Soon after, almost everyone I knew advised me to seek work in another field of law. Business affairs jobs were hard to come by. And one needed plenty of solid experience. Where the hell is experience supposed to come from if no one is willing to give you a chance?

My boss suggested I go where all other newly minted attorneys go when first seeking employment: the government. Specifically, the District Attorney’s office. Even my dearest mom seconded that motion reminding me of the splendid benefits as did my friends, former professors and the beautician, even though she said the head D.A. was a terrible tipper. The postal carrier, tired of seeing me perched atop the mailbox, day after day, awaiting a positive response to the countless resumes I’d sent out said,

“Why do you do this to yourself? You like being rejected?”

Damn right I didn’t. But my sights were fixed. I didn’t want to work anywhere else. Picture an incredible craving for an ice cream sundae and settling instead for cold mashed potatoes. I didn’t want to stop trying. Yet every seemingly authentic human I knew advised otherwise.

I caved in and nabbed an interview at the D.A.’s office. I’ve relived that experience twice; once alive and in person, and the second time, in great detail in my book. I can’t bear to do it again here, not even for my cherished readers; so in summary, we mutually agreed the position wasn’t for me. And yes, a heavy, dust-laden legal treatise accidentally landed on the assistant D.A.’s foot with a fairly strong downward force, mid interview. I left knowing I’d not be back.

Despite the rumblings from all that chances of getting the job I wanted were slim, I finally found my perfect position just a few months later. Success had been lingering just around the corner despite appearances to the contrary.

I wonder how many of our dreams, large or small, are dashed or sidetracked, due to well meaning advice? I often hear complaints from readers who encounter stupidity in the form of unsolicited suggestions that go against the grain of their desires.

“It’s not going to happen.” “What’s the use?” “You can’t do it.” “That’s stupid.”

Beware of anyone who calls your desires”stupid.” You know what they’re really saying: “I’m stupid.”

Ultimately, the voice you must listen to is your own. Life is filled with good intentions. And you know where that road can lead.

Think for yourself or someone else will do your thinking for you.

Keli

Keli@Counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Well Meaning stupidity | 7 Comments »

October 9, 2007 by Keli.

Many thanks to my marvelous, nimble-minded readers; this is my fiftieth post! I could no way have done it without you. You’ve helped make my blog a success. Only a select two or three people actually acquainted with the real me know about the existence of this blog. I keep it secret for two reasons: namely, I don’t want to cause undue concern that they may wind up a featured stuper (short again, for a staggeringly stupid person). Secondly, they may actually be featured here.

Because of my dear readers’ encouragement, I just opened an office. My shingle reads:

Keli Garson, Stupidity Specialist

Motto: “When stupidity creates a mess, I’ll help you clean it up.”

During the first forty-eight hours of business, my phone was silent and my door stayed closed. The only call came from my children who asked when dinner would be ready and could I hurry up and do the laundry.

On day three, I hung up a new sign: “No charge. Walk-ins welcome.”

A line of four people immediately formed. I had to gently remove the first client as he wanted me to “off his brother-in-law,” but the second, Ellen, an attractive woman of about fifty or so, actually presented this case:

Ellen’s son, Jason, ran for President of his eleventh grade class. He’d worked hard, passing out fliers, hanging up posters and making speeches. Many thought he was a shoe-in. However, the election results came, and he lost. Naturally, Jason was disappointed, but got over it quickly.

Immediately after the election, an acquaintance, Judy*, approached Ellen and inquired whether Jason would be okay. Ellen reassured her that he’d be fine. Actually, Ellen felt more disappointed than Jason. As parents, we often take our kids’ letdowns harder than they do.

Ellen ran into Judy a day later; Judy again asked how Jason was doing. Ellen replied that the loss was actually a bit of a relief as it gave Jason some time off from a hectic schedule.

This response did not satisfy the stuper as that evening, Judy e-mailed Ellen to again ask how Jason was doing. How disappointed was he? Would he ever get over it? This continued over a period of several weeks. Ellen said,

“I hardly know my personal agitator, yet she badgers me, day after day. Unexpectedly appearing on my doorstep. Incessantly ringing my telephone. Filling my e-mail screen with constant reminders of Jason’s ‘devastating loss.’ She is driving me to the brink of madness. I have no clue when she’ll next attack. This makes defense problematic.”

At first glance, this meddling moron may appear innocuous and even caring in an overzealous, unbending way. However, Ellen informed me this exact scenario was played out last year when another favored candidate, Katy, happened to surprisingly lose. Judy had spent the entire year telling everyone, with puritanical fervor, how disappointed and bitter not only Katy was, but her whole family. This news came as quite a shock to Ellen since both Katy and her family seemed happy and oblivious about their “humiliating” loss. Ellen hoped to avoid the same kind of scandalous talk spreading about her own family by acting as impassively as she could.

I gave Ellen some options. She could:

• Obtain a restraining order against Judy to keep her at bay;
• Seek psychiatric help in order to ascertain whether Jason, in fact, suffered from severe disappointment and didn’t know it;
• Carry large cymbals and smack them next to Judy’s head once she started her meddlesome chatter in order to shock this stuper into, hopefully, coming to some of her senses; or
• Ignore her

ANALYSIS:

I personally recommended the cymbals; it would be a fascinating experiment to try out on a stuper, but Ellen happily chose the last option. She would also block Judy from her e-mail and phone, and let her pit bull answer the door next time Judy came ’round.

The only way not to promote the wagging tongue of a stuper is to turn one’s back on it. True, they may go ahead and make up their own take on the story, but they won’t enjoy it nearly as much. Plus, Ellen had the satisfaction of knowing the truth.

Stupers are adept at bearing the pain of other’s. Remember, people of this questionable caliber pass through our lives for a reason: so that we may hone the ability to truly appreciate the kind, thoughtful, caring authentic humans in our lives.

Think first, last and always!

Keli

* Those of you seasoned readers may recognize that Judy is the original stuper from Stupidity in Action. I live in a small town; hence, the same stuper may reappear again and again.

Posted in Well Meaning stupidity | 5 Comments »

August 13, 2007 by Keli.

Have you ever contemplated inflicting a moderate-to-sizable dose of bodily harm on another person? How about while shopping in a department store? The answer is almost always yes - at least when the other person is a stuper (short for those remarkably stupid persons).

My sister, Vanessa, had this to say about her department store encounter with stupidity:

“I’d just left the cosmetics section. Then I turned around and saw this girl, running towards me in what looked like slow motion. She held a hand out in front of her, and in it, she was holding a Q-tip with a glob of white cream at the end. She ran up to me and said, ’This is a great new eye cream perfect for your wrinkles!’ She didn’t just say ‘wrinkles.’ She said MY wrinkles. I told this obviously semi-blind, possibly lobotomized *&($#, that I already used an eye cream that worked well. I turned to leave, and she had the nerve to ask which one. I told her they didn’t carry it in this store, and I took off. I didn’t want to risk hearing another stupid word out of her.

Later, I went back to buy a lip-liner. Mine had fallen in the toilet (don’t ask). I couldn’t remember the color so I asked for help. This time, the salesperson, while supposedly helping me, kept her eyes fixed, off to one side, on the escalator.

I asked to see a rose toned lip-liner. She reached her hand beneath the counter, and, puppet-like, handed me a brown liner. I asked again, and she pulled out a red one. Meanwhile, she wouldn’t tear her eyes away from the escalator. I asked a little louder, ‘Do you have rose colored lip-liner? Hello? Hello?’ She didn’t even notice when I left. I think she’s probably still standing there, gazing up at the escalator.“

I asked my sister whether these were young girls. Perhaps if they were teenagers, they hadn’t gained enough experience to exercise proper thought. Vanessa responded,

“They both looked around thirty years old. If that first girl was a teenager, then that wrinkle cream ain’t working.”

Sometimes, when a stuper gets ready, aims and fires, they inadvertently hit the bull’s-eye. This was the case with the eye cream girl.

Vanessa pampers her skin and it shows. Without the use of a powerful magnifying glass or compound microscope, it’s tough to spot any wrinkles. Unfortunately, this stuper, in her zeal to sell her cream, broached a sensitive topic in an insensitive way, which did neither herself nor my sister any good. Stupers have an uncanny knack for getting too personal, too soon.  There are two ways to handle this:

1. Escape: get away from the stuper as soon as you can; or

2. Blast the stuper: by blast, I mean tell him/her to buzz off, using only carefully chosen words and being as brief as possible. Then remove yourself from his/her presence. Prolonged interaction with a stuper does neither party any good.

I suggest the first line of defense. It’s best to put stupidity behind you as soon as possible.

As for the second girl, it’s questionable whether she fell into the stuper category. Perhaps she awaited the arrival of someone important and was expecting him/her to appear on the escalator at any moment. However, I believe she leaned toward being a stuper. She was in the midst of a job; she owed it to her customers and her place of business to, at least, make an effort. Staring at an escalator does not equal effort. Subtlety is not a strongsuit of stupers.

Why not think?

Keli

Keli@Counterfeithumans.com