The Shame

This is not a post about Teri Hatcher. It's about me. But the reason I'm posting her photo is because I think, like her, I've developed Crazy Eye. Unlike her, I don't have the botox to blame.

I've have noticed over last few years that practically every time I walk into certain places, like a clothing store or maybe a wine shop, somebody says, "Can I help you?" This isn't so strange if I'm standing there lurking meaningfully by a salesperson or rummaging hopelessly through a rack. And not if I've just entered a Sephora or a Staples, where, to my continued outrage, people are hired to stand at the door and bellow greetings at everyone who enters. (Although, God forbid that once inside those places you should ever be in need of help; the staff are all at the front door.) Or walking through the dreaded ground floor  of Saks, where the assistants manning (womaning?) various makeup stations holler, "Can I help you?" as if they're specially wired robots and your body heat sets off a vocal mechanism as you pass.

No, this is happening in places where nobody ever wants to help you, like Duane Reade. Today I walked into one of those massive Duane Reades that forces you to go down the escalator if you want anything remotely drug-related or personal. I needed, well, something personal. I knew what I was looking for, I walked straight up to it, took it from the shelf, and got back on the escalator. A floor-walker who'd hopped on in front of me turned around and said, "Can I help you?"  I'm like, What? I'm on the escalator! I said, "Do I look like I need help?" I said this nicely, not rudely, because I genuinely wanted to know. And he goes, sheepishly, "Well, yes. You were looking around like this." And then he did an imitation of what might have been Stevie Wonder stepping into the light for the very first time in his life.

I sputtered, "Well, I don't need any help but thank you anyway," and pretty much sprinted out the door. How mortifying. I guess I asked for it, though. Maybe this is what I get for making cracks about iDags or celebrities with Crazy Eye in the first place.* But holy fuck. Is that what I look like when I'm walking around? I'm thinking I'm wearing a benign expression; meanwhile, my eyes are spiralling all over the place like Marty Feldman's in Young Frankenstein. What horrible news. I may never leave the house again.

* I'm not as mean as the Fug Girls, though, whom I happen to adore. See what they said about Hatcher's Crazy Eye Syndrome.

photo courtesy of Go Fug Yourself

Comments

[prescription eyeglasses online]

Not sure if serious........