It occurred to me today, after such awkward and somehow thought provoking experiences at the mall, that I narrate, analyze and think over every aspect of my life...and somehow it always entertained me. I'm a narrator. It was the part I always strove for when we read historic Shakespearean like plays in grade school. I wanted to be that person in the background, the one behind the scenes that was still very crucial in making everything clearer for the audience. Bringing to life the story they were about to see/hear. And I realized, that's how I live my life every single day.
Five months had drastically changed this mall. It went from being a dead and eerie set of hallways to the most crowded and flashy mall yet. I had a large "Must Purchase" list that I made after my return from a five month trip to the Middle East and a few exchanges I needed to get done. My time was limited due to the fact that I had to pick up my brother from school by 2:30pm and it was already 12:57pm. So after I left NY & Co. I dashed on over to the newly opened double deck Forever 21.
I could see it from the end of the hallway. Seductive. Sparkly. Sensational. It made every fashion hater fall at their knees in awe. The way the sunlight from the ceiling windows fell across those silver letters made the F-O-R-E-V-E-R-2-1 shine like a hopeful mirage in the middle of a desperate desert. My heart beat a bit faster. I wanted to finally experience true shopping since for five months the only mall I saw was a tiny two story building filled with stores that sold children's clothes or underwear.
My feet scurried over and I could feel my face break through the thick mall air. As I breathed it in with great anticipation a postcard suddenly appeared before my eyes. "Here!" he said as he shook it impatiently at my face. I grabbed it with even greater impatience as I muttered a quick thank you and continued on my mission-like walking strategy to Forever 21. "Have you heard of this?" he called out immediately behind me. I turned around and smiled. "No, I haven't, but I'm actually in a hurry. Sorry." But before I could get a chance to turn away and head towards my destination I felt my right wrist being grabbed and pulled towards the innocent cart that was truly a prison. I turned around with sad eyes and a heavy heart at the Forever 21 that was so close, yet so far away.
"So do you wear makeup?" he asked with a hint of hesitation as he observed me. I knew he was probably wondering if a covered Muslim girl would wear makeup. I nodded. "Yeah at parties and such but not on a daily basis." He smiled and found the information useful. I mentally kicked myself for realizing that that was NOT enough to get him to let go of my hand, which was starting to turn yellow from the lack of blood flow. "Okay then, let me show you this." Almost as if he believed he was showing me some jaw dropping magic trick, he used his free hand to dip and dab a few different brushes and demonstrate to me the magic of this "natural, chemical free long lasting all purpose makeup." I rolled my eyes and tapped my feet hoping he would catch the obvious irritation I was trying to illustrate. It went over his head.
In three minutes he managed to paint my hand a mocking embarrassment of a Jackson Pollack masterpiece and I felt overwhelmed at the sight. He had demonstrated how these amazing mineral powders could be used in six different ways and I laughed at the pathetic reality that it probably could only be used for two.
He saw that I nodded and carelessly agreed with him, looking at my watch constantly hoping he would let go (luckily he did set my hand free), but that only made him try harder, and he and his openly gay coworker decided to throw out the psychological method of cajoling innocent bystanders in purchasing their products. The problem was I am not an innocent one, although I was a bystander, and the entire time I was not convinced. So the psychology began.
"Oh my, this color would look soooo good on you," said the other coworker who couldn't stop batting his eyelashes and smiling devilishly at me while sticking out the tip of his tongue. I thanked him and shrugged my shoulders. "Can you tell us about that thing, on your head, like why you wear it and stuff?" I explained briefly the purpose of my scarf, that it was my way of demonstrating my identity to the world, that I am a person, and not an object to be admired for my looks, but rather for the talents and personality I carry. "Wow!" he said, batting his eyelashes a bit more. I wanted to laugh but I held it in. "So you wanna buy these three???" they suddenly asked, and I realized how a typical fool would have been sucked in by their fabricated sympathy and say, "Oh yes, and add those four too!" I took a step back and said, "I'm not so sure."
That's when, the other guy grabbed my hand again. "Here, let me show you this color too!" Oh dear god, will the torture never stop? "Hey you know what, I'm just going to take THIS one," and I stepped aside and handed over the poor Visa card that was surely going to JUST begin the swiping process. "Now if you get ONE more you get a better deal." If only he said that to me ONCE. I heard it seven times in 90 seconds and he didn't seem to understand no for an answer. The same way he couldn't grasp the concept that I ALREADY HAVE AN EYELINER BRUSH AT HOME AND DON'T WANT TO BUY HIS "ON SALE EYELINER BRUSH" THAT IS NOW $15 INSTEAD OF $20!!!
He ripped the receipt and placed it in the bag. I wished he could have just handed it to me and let me go but there was more. He got closer and attempted to demonstrate a few more tips on how to apply the makeup. I nodded and pretended to listen (and care) then I grabbed the bag and ran for it (literally). My heels clicked so loudly against the marble-like floor that I could hear it echo down the two separate wings I was now approaching...where Forever 21 stood in the middle.
I stopped right there at the entrance and admired this store. The way it was once a nobody store and how suddenly it became FOREVER 21, or in more classy terms, XXI (lol). I walked in and let myself savor the beauty of a wanna-be Bloomingdale's, but without the amazing bathrooms and ridiculous prices.
Because of how huge it was I had no idea where to begin. I had two dresses to exchange and I had pajamas on my "Must Purchase" list, so I headed to the pajama section and decided to start there. Shorts. Shorts. Boy shorts. Items of which I'm not really sure are what...or even wearable. Aha! Pajama pants! They were so soft and gorgeous and simple that I grabbed the two available colors in my size and headed towards accessories; and that's when I noticed him. The short round tan man wearing glasses and a cross-body navy school bag.
He was following me. Wait...I made a quick turn to double check. YES! He was!!!
I decided to head into the second accessories area just to double check. And there he was, slowly lurking behind the beads, scarves and crappy $3 sandals. I dashed back into the pajama section remembering that there was a Forever 21 employee unloading new items and I would be in a safer zone. I pretend to look at the other pajama items and see if anything interested me when suddenly...
"Excuse me. You speak Arabic?" Besides his heavy accent, I quickly noticed every nook and cranny of his face as I turned around to find him literally inches from mine. It gave me an idea of what babies see when adults play peek-a-boo with them. I jumped back and landed into a pile of boxes, which were probably filled with more boy shorts and unmentionables. "Um, yes," I said with a shiver yet a hint of relief. I began to rationalize that he was probably some newcomer to America, excited to see another one of "his kind" in this country
"Oh Marhaba!" he said with loud enthusiasm. I smiled and responded, "Ahlayn." Typical Arab greetings. That's when he decided to give me his life story, a typical Arab move and even more so a typical Arab "I just moved here" move. I listened and nodded as he explained how he was from Morocco, just arrived to California a few months back and lived literally two traffic lights away from the mall. He pretty much began to draw me an air map of his intersection and gave me the Arab, "You know where zis street iz? Okay so you make a left and then...."
Then he explained how he comes to the mall to meet people, more specifically Arabs, and how I proved his methods correct. I laughed and asked him, "Did you ever think of trying a mosque? Or Arab event? Probably better results than the mall." He shrugged his shoulders. "Well I don't know any around here and like I just saw you now, and your scarf, and I thought you're probably Arab and I came and asked, and you were!" I couldn't hold my laughter back at this part but I tried to muffle it beneath a fake modest girlish giggle to avoid insulting him.
"There's a mosque in Anaheim, close by, I could give you the address, if you'd like?" He smiled and nodded. "Oh yes yes please!" So I took out my pen and paper and began looking around for a place to write down the address. He hurried over to one of the tables and started pushing away all the neatly placed undies for me. TALK ABOUT AWKWARD. I didn't get why he didn't just approach me in Accessories? Or shoes? Why lingerie and sleepwear???
I wrote the address and the mosque's telephone number and handed him the card. "Thank you! Thank you! And oh, this iz...your number?" he asked in a manner that was SO clearly filled with a hidden agenda that his attempt to cover it failed. "No, this is the mosque's number, so call it for directions and..." He cut me off, "Put your number."
CRAP!!! What the heck do I do? He had this large grin on his face and I stood there literally stupefied holding the damn post-it I suddenly wished I didn't whip out. "Uh...um...." I stumbled in the dilemma of being rude and digging my own grave. I placed the card back down besides the messy pile of briefs and started jotting down digits. Why couldn't I be a professional liar and just come up with random numbers and call it mine? I wrote the final number and felt a bit satisfied because I opted out for the house number. Those phones that no one ever answers let alone remembers.
I handed him back the card, still praying that he would never ever use the second phone number, and noticed that he had already whipped out his outdated Samsung and inputting the digits like a mad man. "Please, write your name on top of your number, so I know." I took the paper (not gently I might add), secretly rolled my eyes, and jotted down the five letters I wished were not mine either.
I gave it to him and said, "Yeah you should go there on Fridays. It's crowded, and you can bring your family along, and you can meet people there." He had mentioned his brother, a local that lived nearby as well and so I thought they would go together, but he stopped me mid-thoughts and bluntly stated, "I'm single. I live alone. I came alone. Not with my family. I don't have anybody." If he had the authentic Merriam Webster definition for single, he would have recited it as well
"Oh," I said without knowing how else to follow up that monologue of his. "You're single?" he asked with that smile again. DAMN WHY COULDN'T I LIE? Curse this proper upbringing of mine! "I don't see a ring!" he said in Arabic. (Actually most of our conversation was in Arabic.) "Yes, I am. Well nice meeting you, take care!" And I gave him a quick smile, grabbed the pajamas and headed towards the register.
I spent the entire ride home thinking of how:
1. I only got ONE thing on my freaking "Must Purchase" list
2. I should've been stronger and a bit tougher and just said NO to those guys at the makeup cart
3. MAYBE if this Moroccan guy had been someone else, MAYBE I wouldn't have had a problem jotting down my cell phone number...like if it were someone who didn't approach me in lingerie and examine my wedding ring finger?
