maquillage

Yesterday, it was Friday, and with my new position, I have hired a director to take over the spring musical so that I have time to spend with my kids. It's revolutionary, really, this taking time out for my kids instead of staring down a hundred teenagers every day.

What did I do?

I took Miss M with me to get my eyebrows waxed.

I know, I know, we could have gone to the library, or park, or even for frozen yogurt. It had been 7 weeks since my last visit, and Roxie preferred to stay at home with Grandpa, Miss M was on board...so we went.

We walked into Benefit, where I have had my eyebrows done for ten years or so. If you don't know me well, what you might need to know is that I am a major product whore, that I buy lots of cosmetics and perfume, that I know my stuff, and that a salesperson should really, really be nice to me.

Miss M and I came in, and they were a little busy. M. immediately pulled out a book and ate her muffin. I asked her if she wanted to try some lipgloss, but she rolled her eyes at me and said, rather dryly, "As. If," and proceeded on with her Wind in the Willows, crossing her long legs. A salesgirl, about 20 years old, approached me and asked if I wanted to be "touched up" before my wax. I smiled and said of course, and sat down.

The salesgirl sucked her teeth. "Uh, do you always use this kind of mascara?" she said, as if she were excavating Hitler's tomb. "Yessss," I replied, wondering. I mean, my makeup is always impeccable. Always. I mean, I do industrial stage makeup. Foolproof. "Uh huh," she said, "well, do you love it?" She drew out the "o" in love so that it was an indictment rather than a question. I gulped and started unconciously rubbing my thighs. I felt fat all of a sudden. "It's Dior, I've used it for years - I, uh - what's wrong with it?" She roughly brushed some powder on my cheeks. "I mean, if you like flaking and feathering, it's cool, I guess." I could smell tropical gum on her breath. I sat in silence, trying not to show any facial expression. I looked at M. sitting there in her natural gorgeous state.

I glanced in the mirror. I knew what it was. I'd used a powder shadow as a liner that morning, and it had bled due to my new eye cream.

"Oh! I used a shadow liner this morning and I uh used my Fast Response Eye Cream for the first time and it must have run..." I babbled on as if I were on Meth.

She looked at me warily. Accusingly.

"Uh huh. Maybe you should try a lipgloss - we have some nice light glimmer shades..." her voice trailed off. She showed me a bunch of white-girl colors that frankly, would never do with my complexion. "...maybe your daughter would like this?" she smiled at Miss M, showing her incisors.

Miss M looked up from the book and made a face. My insanely polite daughter grimaced and said, "Uh, NO."

And kept reading.

I was called in for my wax, and as I sat and had my face tugged off, I started to wonder what it was about me that the saleswoman saw. I was in work clothes, so I wasn't a slob. I had my "jewels" on, as Roxie likes to say, and carried the latest and greatest Coach handbag. I'm no slouch.

But I felt like one.

I slunk over to the counter and pulled out my card. The Mean Girl Saleswoman was there.

"I picked out some things that you might like, " she said, showing her incisors again. She must smoke, I thought. Her teeth are yellow. I was pulling at anything to feel better.

I sheepishly nodded and handed her my card.

For some insane reason, I flashed on how I used to feel at Miss M's IEPs, like we were second-class citizens in a school of kids who should be there, versus a kid who was lucky to be getting extra help.

I cleared my throat.

"Uh. Remove that stuff from my bill, please," I said nicely but authoritatively, using my uppity stage voice.

She sort of sighed, handing me my card wordlessly. Miss M followed me out the door, still reading her book.

We walked while I thought.

"That lady. She was kind of - I don't want to swear mom, but she was sort of a B-I-T-C-H" she spelled in a stage whisper.

Sometimes, Miss M astounds me. It appeared that she didn't record the exchange at all, engrossed in her book. She nailed the unfortunate incident on the head.

"Why would she expect you to buy anything with that kind of attitude?" she said, tucking her book under her arm. She continued. "I mean, why would people want to make other people feel like C-R-A-P? " she spelled again.

I kept thinking about the experience of being Miss M's mother. Many, many of our experiences with schools, professionals, clinicians had the same scowling, condescending feel of the 20 year old salesgirl.

I always left those meetings feeling like Miss M was in deep doo-doo; that there was something profundly wrong with my daughter.

Like my errant eyeliner.

I looked at my tall, coltish daughter, so lovely and smart, picking up on exactly the right social nuances she should have in that exchange.

Nothing wrong there.

We strolled into the MAC store, where I am a frequent shopper. This salesgirl greeted me with a hug and called me by name. She showed me the new Hello Kitty line and gave me special pre-order privileges. She complimented Miss M on how lovely she is, and sold me a special sparkly pink gloss for Roxie, whom she remembered from the last time. She asked Miss M about her school uniform and school, and really listened when Miss M took a long time to tell her all about her day.

It's how you deal with people that matters in this world, isn't it? Whether it's business, politics, or education...it's simple human connection and decency.

We walked out, Miss M and I, one hundred dollars lighter.

Now that's what I call customer service.