Tuesday, September 20, 2011


Being a woman of a certain age presents  so many opportunities.  (Really?  I sound like I'm writing through clenched teeth?  Interesting.)

I had an opportunity to visit a 'medical spa' recently, where, just like at the doctor's office, I waited well-past my appointment time--at least an hour--before I saw the doctor. Bustling in and apologizing for being late, we'd barely made eye contact before the doctor slipped some kind of fabric eyeband  over my head and told me to pull it over my eyes. The doctor then took a breath, got some equipment humming and launched headlong into a hard sell discussion/description of a regime and products...exfoliation...salyicylic acid...sunscreen...anti-aging. roducts -- none of which I'd asked about--while attending to my flesh. The room smelled a little like a hot comb on the stove.

Second-guessing myself, thinking maybe she's trying to bond--you know, get to know me (since, apparently, I'd have to come back for a "minimum of 8 visits") I tried to converse-
but no; my instincts were right, it was a spiel.

After the ordeal, when I when to check out, an assistant motioned me over to a counter where she had what looked like an invoice slip, and a suite of products that she began describing, ones the doctor had suggested would be useful for my teenager's acne.

I never suggested to the doctor that I wanted to buy the acne kit, but I listened politely to the assistant--until she went to write on the invoice/receipt slip -- "How much is this?" "The Acne Kit is $150" she responded before returning again to the pen and the slip of paper. Then I asked about the little bottles to her left, "The regimen?" Yes, apparently these were what the doctor was speaking of  when I tuned her out. I hadn't inquired about any regimen or products, nor displayed any real interest when she went on and on about them, yet here they were, all ready for my presumed purchase-- "And how much is that?" I asked, looking at the four tiny plastic bottles, " all together it's 150 dollars." Then I was just pissed.

FIRST, I was left waiting in a treatment room for over an hour before the doctor came in. Over an hour. No head popped in periodically to assure, explain or apologize; no head popped in. Still, I was chill I've got my blood pressure to think about; I'd meditated that morning, and I was playing some of my best Beyond Tetris ever.

But still.

THEN, once the doctor is in, I'm subjected to a rapid fire sales pitch (she denied it being a hard sell before I'd even realized she was trying to sell me something!) while prone and blindfolded--  an opportunity which was neither free nor cheap--

and on top of all that they're trying to hustle me out of three hundred more dollars and into a financing plan?  I was done.
Yeah, times are hard all over.   I'll stick with Cetaphil and Nair.

6203 High Score.

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