"Security!"

Have you ever just wanted to make a scene? Go off the deep end, fly off the handle, completely lose it right there in public for everyone to see?

I've secretly wanted to do it for years, but when the situations present themselves I've never had the balls. Or I didn't think about what I should do until it was too late.

Case in point: the other day at the mall I was accosted by one of those little yutzes that run the kiosks in the hallways. It was The Shiny Nail guy, and I've been solicited by one before. In exactly the same place (strategically planned?) right outside the Victoria's Secret store. So not only am I embarrassed to be stopped right in front of that particular store (I really don't want this guy thinking about me buying underwear or trying on lingerie), but I was twice as embarrassed because the FIRST time it happened to me I wasn't able to get out of it either.

What's the saying? Once burned, twice a complete moron? Something like that, right?

So, there I was. Trying to duck into the boob holder store when this bearded gent sees me and makes a beeline and steps in front of me so I have to either stop or fall on my face. Unfortunately I didn't think about the third option of kicking him in the shin. Read on.

He starts chatting me up and grabbed my hand to look at my nails. Excuse me? (I should have said that!) He starts explaining his dumb filer and the gray side and the blue side and the white side and how I'm supposed to file my nails. Wouldn't he have felt like a WATERMELON to find out I already own the shiny nail set! It was given to me as a gift, and for the record: I really like the shiny nail set, and I've used it many times. I just don't like being hustled. Or badgered.

Even though I kept trying to pull my hand out of my grasp, the pinhead just wasn't getting it. He kept filing, filing, filing away my nail, and asking me about what I was doing here at the mall (going into the boob store, duh. You're right in front of it)(sigh, I didn't say that out loud) and filing, filing, filing, and where am I from (across the country, I actually told him--when will I learn to just lie?! I never do because it feels like a betrayal of my Home State) and filing, filing, filing, and why am I here in Ohio ('cuz I live here now) and filing, filing, filing, and where am I from (uh, seriously dude. I just said where I was from were you not listening?) and . . . GAHHH!

Do I have any nail left?

He finally stops filing and pulls out the mineral oil. I mean, it's a fancy bottle and everything, but I bet you could get the same thing for $1.99 from Wal-Mart. He puts a drop on my nail and wipes it off and reveals: a shiny nail!

The Big Finale was ruined by the fact that I've seen it before (thanks for asking, nitwit) and I think that is when it first started going downhill for him. Since I didn't ooooh and ahhh to his satisfaction, he started acting like If Only I had a second shiny nail, then I'd get it.

Once in possession of my own hand and my one shiny nail, I started to step away with a thanks but no thanks comment, but he grabbed my hand back and shoved the filer into it with the instructions of Now your turn. Come on, pal! I'm really not in the mood! I just want to get my over the shoulder boulder holder (where is that from?) and get the hecksamabob out of here!

I half-heartedly started filing a second nail.

So, where are you from? he asked.

We repeated the process up to and including his disappointment at my lackluster, deflated response to the mineral oil climax. I was totally irritated when, despite my obvious poo-pooing from the very beginning, still he still put the box kit into my hands and actually acted like he was expecting me to pull out my wallet.

Really? I mean, really?

I should have just started trucking down the hallway and made him chase me. That would have been fantastic.

There wasn't a price tag either, which is one of my pet peeves. Who in their right mind is going to say yes without knowing the price?! Rich people, poor people . . . everyone wants to know how much it costs before they commit themselves. Wal-Mart and Fred Meyer and all those stores have self scanners in the aisles so the customers can figure it out without bothering the cashiers. If your product looks like it's not going to be worth the money, or you're trying to trick people into getting closer and spending more money then they thought it was worth when they were walking by, then it's obviously overpriced! I think any product that people are too lazy (or afraid) to put a price tag on should be free.

So since I'd already seen it, and wasn't going to buy it anyway because the guy was such a tool, I didn't even feel the need to glance at it. And that really made him mad when I just stuck it back on the shelf without looking and turned to go. He stopped me again!

"Not today," I said. (Get a clue! I thought)(should have said that too). Why not? asked Mr. Grouchypants. I'm very proud of my answer: "Because I don't want it." Simple. Clean. Truthful. It did not go over well.

He did this big grumpy sigh, and shot evil glances at the back of my head as I walked away. I wanted to turn around and say, "Hey! You stopped me, schmuck!" But, as evidenced by my prior inability to be rude, I was polite and said something like, "Thanks anyway." But it made me so mad! Why was I the one feeling bad when he was the one harassing me? I didn't stop him to ask him about his shiny nail set. In fact, I tried hard to avoid him.

He's so going to be talking about me at dinner tonight, I'm sure of it.

I wish I could have made a huge scene of the "Someone call security!" caliber. Wouldn't that have been awesome? Wouldn't it have totally taught him a lesson!? A don't-bug-women-who-are-about-to-go-into-Victoria's-Secret type of lesson.

My imagination came up with a few different versions of the flip out I could have had. I tried to type them out but it just left me sounding very mean and very diabolical. And more than a little crazy.

I think next time I'll skip the diabolism and just go straight to a snottily frosty, "I don't think so," as I keep walking. And if he tries to step in front of me again, I'll do a 180 and start walking the other way (and loop around the kiosk so I could continue in the direction I was going)(the thought of that is actually kinda funny). Or, if he starts acting like I'm the one being rude, maybe I'll actually say what I was thinking before: "You're the one accosting me!"

I might even add a bit of name-calling into it: "You're the one harassing me, bucko."

I like that.