There are invisible people at the mall.  You can hear them, but as I watched them from my perch at Starbucks, it seemed to me that few people saw them.  I observed them as they tried to make themselves visible to those passing by.

You can see the invisible people, if you want to.  Most people would rather not, because making eye contact might lead to the awkwardness of turning down the free sample of lotion at the end of the outstretched hand.  It might turn into an inescapable Spiel.

I watched the young, beautiful, dark-haired woman with the outstretched lotion as she tried to engage those who walked by.  “Excuse me!  Would you like to try a free sample?  Excuse me, sir?  Excuse me, ma’am?”  No one stopped.  Most pretended not to see her.  Many did not see her at all. 

As I approached her, it felt like breaking the fourth wall.  Who catches her eye on purpose and smiles at her and asks her what she is selling?  What would it be like not to avoid the Spiel, but to welcome it, to engage it, to ask her about her product?  What if I actually bought what she was selling, tucking it away for a future gift?  What if I became her first, and perhaps only sale of the day?

She buffed my fingernails and rubbed the salts on my hands.  She spritzed water and smoothed lotion.  She talked about the Dead Sea–so salty!–and it reminded me of the book on Israel that my grandmother gave me when I was a child.  I still remember the people floating effortlessly on the Dead Sea.  I wonder if this young woman has been to the Dead Sea.

I should have asked her.

Instead I let her finish all of her points and bought some of her products at at “deep discount” which may or may not have been a good deal but was justifiable.  My hands were smooth.  It would be a nice gift.

I could tell that she appreciated the sale, but in a very subtle way our roles reversed as she handed me the receipt.

She did not need my attention.

And now I am the invisible one.