Thank You Miss Cosmetics Girl
I, like all other heterosexual males of my generation, am completely unprepared for this time of year. Every Christmas Eve at noon I frantically run around department stores in Dublin city centre randomly hassling girls working on cosmetics counters, trying to control my annual bout of Toureets Syndrome and swearing blindly that it will be different next year. Well guess what? It's next year already and nothing has changed.
My brethren in th' USA have it worse. At least we get a week off work to recouperate from all of this. In the USA, people are back at their desks on the 26th. Over here, the 26th is reserved for fried breakfasts, a return to the pub, a full program of horse racing in Leopardstown and a full english premiership programme. We don't get back to work until the day after the day after New Years Day.
Next week at businesses accross the nation, employees turn into college students with money. Lunch starts at noon and rapidly descends into an alcoholic haze by the time you pay a taxi driver outside what you suspect is your house. This trend continues until you wake up Christmas eve and realise it's too late to order christmas presents online and have them delivered in 24 hours, so, it's you and two hundred thousand other poor schmucks hassling the cosmetics girls again.
And, at last, I come to the point. The Cosmetics Girls, all sweet smelling and smooth skinned, all friendly and smiley, even when confronted by an unshaven thirty something year old, still vaguely smelling of a mixture of toothpaste and Guinness, looking desperately forlorn through bloodshot eyes, deserve an award. No, they don't just deserve an award, I'd give 'em all freedom of the city if I was Mayor. They stand patiently while you dig through your pockets for crumpled 20 euro notes. They throw in free samples (usually male deodarant!). They explain the refund or exchange policy. They leave you feeling like they are there to help you through the most trying day of your life.
There are angels living amongst us and though they might sport the name of a multinational fashion house on their bosoms, that doesn't make them any less angelic.
Thank you, one and all...
My brethren in th' USA have it worse. At least we get a week off work to recouperate from all of this. In the USA, people are back at their desks on the 26th. Over here, the 26th is reserved for fried breakfasts, a return to the pub, a full program of horse racing in Leopardstown and a full english premiership programme. We don't get back to work until the day after the day after New Years Day.
Next week at businesses accross the nation, employees turn into college students with money. Lunch starts at noon and rapidly descends into an alcoholic haze by the time you pay a taxi driver outside what you suspect is your house. This trend continues until you wake up Christmas eve and realise it's too late to order christmas presents online and have them delivered in 24 hours, so, it's you and two hundred thousand other poor schmucks hassling the cosmetics girls again.
And, at last, I come to the point. The Cosmetics Girls, all sweet smelling and smooth skinned, all friendly and smiley, even when confronted by an unshaven thirty something year old, still vaguely smelling of a mixture of toothpaste and Guinness, looking desperately forlorn through bloodshot eyes, deserve an award. No, they don't just deserve an award, I'd give 'em all freedom of the city if I was Mayor. They stand patiently while you dig through your pockets for crumpled 20 euro notes. They throw in free samples (usually male deodarant!). They explain the refund or exchange policy. They leave you feeling like they are there to help you through the most trying day of your life.
There are angels living amongst us and though they might sport the name of a multinational fashion house on their bosoms, that doesn't make them any less angelic.
Thank you, one and all...
posted by Derek Keogh | 3:46 PM
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