The Magician
I was making my way
through one of the alleys in Melbourne when a young man, standing in a shop doorway,
approached me.
"Mam, would you
like some free hand cream?" He hands me a small blue sachet. Then he hands me another one, cause
apparently he likes me.
Thank you, I reply, but
could not make my escape so easily. We chat for a bit, discussing his heritage
and my heritage and then the discussion went to my skin, which, supposedly, was
looking very sensitive.
"Come," he
says, "I have the perfect cream for you."
I follow him into the
small shop and he directs me to a chair. Ever so gently he applies some cream
on my skin, just below the eyes, as that area needs some work, he said. He was
polite in his comments but I know my skin and I know I have not given it the
respect it deserves. But I listen and I let him do his spiel.
He massages one cream
in, and then shows me another, and rubs that in too. Then he hands me the
mirror. "Can you see the difference?"
Ahh, I thought, this is
it, this is where I see the magic happen.
I look in the mirror and note one side of my face is fully lit by the ever
glowing light to the right of me. The other side in semi darkness. I move my
head from side to side as I look in the mirror. I reply. "It is hard to
tell by the lighting."
You see, the bright
light disguised the harsh lines, yes, I do have harsh lines, and the dull light
allowed the crevices to stand out more, creating stronger lines and deeper
shadows.
I smile at the
magician, for it is not the magic of the cream he is using but the magic of
smoke and mirrors. I note, on writing this, how the mirror was only handed to
me after the cream was put on. Of course. It would not do for me to see that
same variation before the cream, that would give away the magician's trick.
Then he mentions the
bargain price, but that does not happen until he mentions the original price
and how it is almost half the cost and a special price just for me, because,
apparently, he likes me.
I decline but cannot
make my escape just yet as the lovely young man, of Italian heritage, who likes
me and thinks we have some kind of bond, has another offer for me. Hand cream.
Have I heard of Manuka
honey? Yes. He applies the honey and shows me how it removes the dry skin. I am
impressed and nod. Then he brings on his next trick, no abrakadabra words here,
just counting. He applies another cream, a moisturizer, rotating - one, two,
three and four. And the cream disappears. He does the same to the other hand,
but without the manuka honey. The counting continues to about ten. The dead
skin did not allow the cream to be absorbed so quickly.
I nod again, impressed
with his new trick.
Then the bargain
price is mentioned, just for me, special price of ninety-nine dollars. I
redirect my nod and shake my head. "Sorry." But he interrupts and tells me, not only do I
get the cream, which will last a whole year, but I will get a free facial worth
two hundred dollars. He informs me that if the cream runs out before the year
is out, they will fill it up free. I questioned that. Too good to be true. But
I would never know as I declined again.
I could see his facial
expression change. He was not winning. The magician had lost his touch.
Or had he, for within a
few moments, with no smoke or mirrors, and just like that, 'poof!' I
disappeared out of sight.
