I hate malls at Christmastime

It's been too long since I've worked in one. I'd forgotten the importance of keeping my head down and walking at as fast a clip as the crowds would let me manage. Because I'd forgotten that, every kiosk salesperson tried to sell me something. I managed to avoid (or outrun) most of them, but this amazingly life-like android saleswoman* cornered me and tried to sell some kind of home manicure thingy to me.

To me. Because home manicure thingies are just what a grown-up tomboy with (currently in need of cutting) short hair, no makeup, and a casual outfit that would be just as appropriate on a man would want. Sure. Maybe the android had been programmed with the idea that shining my nails would automatically sell me on becoming a proper woman. Maybe the android had been programmed to corner anyone who wasn't wearing nail-polish and I saved the burly construction worker behind me from the embarrassing fate of having his nails shined. I don't know, but you'd think that there would be better uses for life-like androids than kiosk sales at a mall.

I did manage to escape from the android, though, despite being unable to be mean to someone projecting niceness at me. Its actually a pity they programmed her to be so intense and unwilling to take no for an answer, because I think the home manicure thingy would appeal to my ex-roommate. I'm not about to recommend it to her now, though.


* Seriously. I have never before encountered anyone who so screamed "replicant." There was something programmed about all of her sales talk. It was too smooth, too much like ad copy, too...pre-recorded. She sounded like an info-mercial. It was bizarre.