perception

I treated myself to a long hot shower after work today. My scalp had been kind of dry, so I looked through Cindy’s hair-care products for something new to try as the hot water splashed softly against my back.

(The best thing about having a shower with weak water pressure is that you get used to it, and then you’ll have the time of your life whenever you shower someplace else. I can’t remember the last time I used a different shower without going out of my way to comment on the water pressure.)

The first product that caught my eye was a 30oz bottle of “Bed Head Brunette Goddess Conditioner.” I remember Cindy bringing the bottle home from the salon a few weeks ago with a matching shampoo and telling me that she had treated herself to something expensive.

Even before reading the description on the bottle, I was already leaning towards using the Bed Head conditioner because of its unique pump-action dispenser and because I was curious to see if an expensive product would do anything different to my hair.

(“Hey Mom, has Dad done something with the shower upstairs since I moved out? Because that water pressure felt amazing!!”)

I picked up the bottle of Bed Head and read the first line of the product description. It said, YOU MUST HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR TO USE OUR PRODUCTS

Has that language ever cost them a sale? Has anyone ever picked up a bottle of Bed Head Conditioner in the store and read that line and said to themselves, “Well, so much for Bed Head”?

I almost expected that sentence to be followed by some faux science explaining how people with senses of humor had more of a certain chemical in their brain that affected their hair and was activated by one of the ingredients in the shampoo.

(“Spencer, I know I just spent a lot of time in your shower, but I’ll tell you what, I could have spent a whole hell-of-a lot more. And listen brother, I’ve taken a lot of showers in my life, but I’m gonna remember that one for a long time. You’ve really got yourself a great house.”)

Underneath the sense of humor line was this,

Feed your inner goddess! The liposome delivery system releases nutrients into your hair. Soy and wheat proteins retain moisture and revitalize shine. Panthenol strengthens your hair to help resist breakage and reduce split ends. Brunettes do it better!

The label didn’t say anything about moisturizing my dry scalp, but I didn’t care and quickly squirted it into my hand. The conditioner smelled great and the pump’s squirting action lived up to the hype. I enjoyed the smell a little longer and then rubbed it into my hair and let the liposome delivery system go to work.

It has been a few hours since my shower, and although my scalp is still dry, it’s reassuring to know that I’ve got soy and wheat proteins revitalizing my shine, and panthenol strengthening my hair.

(“Cindy, remind me to always err on the side of staying at a Courtyard Marriot, because this shower is FUCKING INCREDIBLE!”)

You must have a sense of humor to read this.

.

The Bed Head conditioner reminded me of a trip to the eyeglass store with Cindy a few weeks ago. Cindy chose a particular store on Broadway and Briar because it received glowing reviews online and because their optometrist accepted her insurance.

Other than sushi restaurants, bars and convenient stores, few businesses are more abundant in my neighborhood than eyeglass stores. However, since it was my first time inside of one, I did a little browsing while Cindy met with the optometrist.

(Cindy just sat down next to me and read what I have written so far and her first comment was, “Yeah, and the water pressure at that hotel in San Diego last month was really impressive.”)

Several issues of Chicago Modern Luxury Magazine adorned a large white leather ottoman near the front of the hardwood sales floor, and flat screen televisions showing slide shows of models wearing glasses were mounted between the racks on the walls.

Slow loungey house music played in the background as I took a closer look at some glasses. Almost all of the glasses either had thick frames or bright colors (or both) and all were very expensive. Most were between $400 - $600. Even the very small selection of plain looking glasses fell within that price range.

(“Jake, some people may complain about the lighting in your shower – and if they’re the type of person who prefers a well lit shower, they may be justified in doing so. But show me the person who says one bad word about your water pressure, and I’ll show you a liar. I’ll show you nothing less than a person with a vendetta.”)

A display case large enough to fit two people stood at the center of the sales floor, but held only three pairs of glasses and a large picture of a model.

This was the picture:

That model silences anyone who associates wearing glasses with being a nerd.

One look at him and it’s clear that his eyes didn’t go bad from too much reading.

His eyes went bad from getting hit in too many barroom brawls.

His eyes went bad from getting too much cocaine in them.

His eyes went bad from bringing so many different women to such violent orgasms that their limbs flailed uncontrollably and accidentally struck him in the eye too many times.

No one is looking at that guy – with his shirt unbuttoned down to the middle of his stomach exposing his silver chain and heavily tattooed chest – and mistaking him for a nerd.

This was one of the glasses in the case.

They also had non-tinted glasses in the display, but this particular pair was likely made to protect your eyes from the thousands of flashbulbs that go off when you’re on stage. (And the hundreds of flashbulbs that go off when you’re walking to a restaurant on a Tuesday evening.)

This was the display for a German eyewear brand in the back of the store.

It may not be clear from the picture, but the male model with the bleached hair is wearing lipstick.

Granted, this store is in a neighborhood with a much higher percentage of upper middle class homosexuals than your average American town, but nonetheless, I imagined that a lot of straight white collar working professionals wandered into that store with their wives or girlfriends and tried on glasses like these,

 and then hesitantly asked their more fashion-conscious female companion, “Uh.. You think these are too much?”

(“How was the shower?” --- “It was so good that I was almost expecting it to bring me off at the end.”)

On my way back to the ottoman, I noticed a small curtained off entrance with a sign in front that said, “This room is by appointment only.”

I moved towards it and peeked in.

A middle-aged, blonde, well-dressed – but not quite attractive – saleswoman noticed me peeking in, so I asked her, “What’s in that room?”

“That is for appointments only.”

“Oh, ok.”

I was beginning to walk away when she continued, “But you can go down there and take a look if no one’s in there.”

I got a text message from Hansen as she said that, so I thanked her and told her I would check it out in a minute. I sat on the ottoman and responded to the message and then walked into the appointment only room.

I didn’t see a light switch at first, so I looked around in the dark and took a picture.

I eventually found the light switch and turned them on.

I wasn’t sure what to make of the room – add a bottle of Grey Goose and a few dancing strangers and you’d feel like you were buying glasses in a nightclub. And I didn’t see anything wrong with that.

(“Cindy, I can’t shower in your parents’ bathroom. It’s too much. The water pressure is too strong. It actually hurts my back. I’m not joking.”)

I considered looking around for some champagne, but it was still early in the afternoon so turned off the lights and left.

The saleswoman noticed me walking out and hurried over and said, “You’re not supposed to be in there! That room is for appointments only.”

I was speechless.

This SAME WOMAN had JUST TOLD ME THAT I COULD GO BACK THERE. And now she was panicking because I had gone back there.

I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there and stared at her with my mouth hanging open even more than it normally does.

(Stop reading and take the time to truly imagine my confusion.)

I hate confrontation. Plus, I didn’t think it would help to refresh her memory about the details of our last conversation, so I just stood there and stared at her – completely confused – and all I could think to myself was, “Is this woman fucking with me?”

After a few moments of thought, I concluded that either:

1) This woman was fucking with me,

2) I was finally starting to lose my mind, or

3) This woman had some short term memory issues that required immediate attention.

It was a very long silence. I couldn’t think of anything to say. What does one say in that situation?

Finally, I softly and slowly asked, “Uh,,,,, Are you talking to me?”

I knew the question wouldn’t accomplish much – unless she answered “no” and proved that she was crazy – but it felt right at the time (and looking back, I still think it might have been the right thing to say.)

“Yes” she replied, “You’re not supposed to be in there. That room is for appointments only.”

I decided to pretend that she’d never given me permission to go down there, “Oh, sorry about that, I didn’t see the sign.”

She didn’t say anything and hurried into the appointment only room to make sure I hadn’t disturbed anything.

Some battles aren’t worth fighting.

I walked over to the front window and noticed a discount optical store across the street with the words “within your budget” written on the window. Maybe that's where I'll go if my vision starts to go bad.  

(“Juice, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve got terrible water pressure in my shower, but your’s is non-existent! How can you shower with water pressure like that?”)

…

Epilogue –

A few weeks later Cindy bought a pair of glasses from that store, and I must admit, I like the way they look.

Had I known I was going to write a blog post about that store, I would have taken better pictures of it. (And if I wasn't lazy, I'd walk back over there and take more.)