The Big Rub

Last Thursday, as I was killing time between picking up my new eyeglasses and meeting some friends for lunch, I found myself seduced into listening to a sales pitch from very short man at a mall kiosk. After rebuffing my half-hearted attempts to leave, I was placed on a wooden bar stool and intensely examined. He was selling facial creams and possibly saving me from a life of a dry and wrinkled face.
He spoke in a thick accent, I wasn't sure where from, but he had such authority in his delivery I began believing everything he said.
He proceeded to dab my unsightly under-eye circles with a top secret magic formula. This cream was also able to lift the sags and smooth the lines around my eyes. But, he would only do one eye so I could visibly see the amazing transformation.
I have to admit, I could visibly see the difference between eye A and unforgiving eye B.
Then the man continued vocally picking apart my flaws, telling me how much older and unattractive I was having these three obviously deformities (the under eye circles, the laugh lines and now slight acne scars). I was shocked. Here I was thinking I was looking pretty good that day. I had spent an hour donning makeup and hair in anticipation of a girl's luncheon, when in his reality I really should have been wearing a bag, and probably a two-ply, brown paper bag over my head.
Along with tearing my self esteem apart, the creepy little man kept rubbing against me with his even tinier "manhood".
At first I thought it was an accident. I was sitting high on a chair, my legs were crossed and he was leaning in to dab eye cream on me. It was a plausible mistake.
The second time, after I had readjusted feeling embarrassed by the accidental contact, the man lingered on me. It must have been an accident, right? Wasn't it an accident?
After sitting and listening to my many, many faults and on the verge of wanting to hide in my house for the remainder of my life if only to spare the world of my ugliness, the stout little man, rubbed against me for the third time (he was no longer applying facial cream to my face, it was a mask on my forearm). I couldn't believe it. I really couldn't fathom this kind of behavior, to me, a grown woman in my thirties, in broad day light and in a very public place.
I stood up, thanked the man for his time and then limped away to the Express store to cry among the sales rack in the back.
I was humiliated. What had I done to deserve this? What could I have done to provoke this kind of behavior? And how had I become so ugly in a few short hours?
In telling my friends of what had conspired, I was still visibly shaken, one friend even had tears in her eyes, wanted to know why. My other friend explained it to me perfectly; it was because simply, I was unprepared.
If I had had my guard up, the creep probably wouldn't have succeeded in getting away with so much. I blame my environment. In a culture of perpetual "turn the other cheek" I have found myself cheek less and down right spineless.
What time period am I living in? A truly great time it is. I am living in a time where a woman could run for President of the United States and another woman could run for Vice President. I am witnessing events that will forever be known in history as the "firsts" and here I am crying in the back of an Express Store.
I decided to take action and stand up for myself and for my two friends and also for my younger, less-wise self. I called the Mall Management Offices to complain, and waited for a returned phone call. Nothing. They still haven't called, even after two messages.
The next day, still feeling the sting to my self-esteem and wounded from not taking more action, I decided to go back to the Mall.
This time I was prepared. I spent over an hour getting ready. My hair was perfect. My makeup was sublime, my outfit, smart and slightly sexy, and my shoes, six inches (I wanted to tower over the man).
I went to Dillards and purchased many facial products for my skin. Guess what? The sweet woman behind the counter kept disputing all the products I was told I needed the day before for my badly pocked and ugly skin. She couldn't see my acne scars. She even compared me to Anne Hathaway. I like Anne Hathaway, I think she's pretty.

Taking my time and my purchases, and I must mention I had a prepared speech; I trekked back to the now hated man at his Kiosk.
He wasn't there. He wasn't working that day.
No matter. I was there to gain my self respect. I told the two women now working the Kiosk about what transpired. Including the crazy rubbing the creep did.
The women didn't believe me. In fact, one hugged me, the other tried to sell me some product for half price! I showed them my bag of facial treatments and told them, thank you for the hug, but I am not now nor ever going to buy anything from them.
It didn't matter that the women didn't believe me. I don't care that they didn't see it as a big deal. I am delighted that I stood up for myself and for my friends and for anyone else who has been broad sided and left in ruins. I did it for my sex and I did it for me. I can go back to the Mall or any place else with my head held high. Next time though, I'll have my guard up.