Took the Subaru in for service this morning and that gave me a few hours to kill. The dealership dropped me at the close by mall, which gave me a chance to wander around, drink some coffee, meander into Macys singing "I drive myself to Macys" which wasn't quite true since it was a garage employee who drove me there.

Needless to say, the mall was decked out for Christmas and I'm cool with that -- I love Christmas. They even had a little stand-alone stall in the big center aisle for a Hickory Farms stand. The stack of beef-logs made me reminisce for the Christmas season of 1988, when Guido and I roamed the Galleria in White Plains, with Guido totally perplexed over what to buy as his office Secret Santa gift. Then we spotted the stick o' meat at the Hickory Farms stand. We knew right away we'd found the answer. He bought two: one for the office gift, the other for us. And a jar of honey mustard.

As we made our way back the parking garage we couldn't help ourselves -- I used the tiny United Nations pocketknife I'd been carrying around since 7th grade to peel open the industrial-gauge plastic wrap, we opened the mustard jar, dipped the giant meat log, and took big Viking bites out of it as we pushed through the crowd on our way back to the car.

I remember Lisa was with us and she tried real hard to blend into the crowd and make like she didn't know us. Her act wasn't fooling anyone.

But alas, this morning's reverie was cut short -- very short, in fact, as the sole Hickory Farms attendant who was actually in the middle of ringing up someone's purchase stopped what she was doing to come over and put the hard sell on me on, a rapid-fire description of the delights and discounts associated with the juicy cuts of smoked nitrates on display. I nodded my head and tried not to stare down her open shirt -- what the hell kind of bra was she wearing to push those tiny things up and in and out the top? It was distracting, but as fond as my beef stick memories might be I wasn't in the mood to buy any.

So I begged off. Only to be accosted later by someone who wanted to sell me aromotherapy.

"I don't do aromatherapy."

"Why not?" she asked, looking alarmed.

"Because I stink already."

And thus the pushy salesfolk continued to assail me. The woman in Macys wanted me to try Usher cologne. And she looked saddened when I kept walking. "You might like it!" she called after me. Someone help me out here -- does the retail industry have data to show that approach actually works? I feel bad for these people... having to talk to a Mastandrea-at-retail is not always the most pleasant experience.

(Did pick up a few nice things at World Market on my way back. I like that place.)