These things in life are inevitable, like taxes. Unless you live in the Cayman Islands or something. Mary was just pulling into the back of some department store down West when all of a sudden I realized I had stepped out into a conflagration of bosses. Wait, maybe it's congregation, they weren't on fire. There were about fifteen maybe of them, all uniformed and middle-aged. I had been planning to pick up a new chair for my desk at this shopping plaza thing, when lo and behold bosses attack. Helga, abruptly called from retirement, puts on game face and finds herself in STAGE ONE.
Now, before I hit continue, I should tell you something about Mary. And that is she does not like salespeople. I mean, I don't particularly blame her, but her dislike of brochures is more like what I feel about spiders. Urrgh. Now, on this web-blog, or weblog, or whatever it is, you should know one thing about Mary: and that is that she is always happy pretty much, except when she doesn't get her way. There is, however one exception to this rule, and that is brochures. More specifically, people trying to touch her windscreen wipers. I think I'll chalk it up to stranger danger. Yep, I've taught her well.
So suddenly Helga finds that she has walked into a boss arena. And not one boss, but SIXTEEN! Option 1: duck into nearby shrubbery, near where woman is unpacking her groceries into car. Option 2: play the I-can't-see-them-they-can't-see-me game. As Helga is considering these options, suddenly a boss wearing green and black turns and greets her. "Oh, hi Livi!" oh no. Now all sixteen (or roundabout) turn to face her. At the same time, she realizes they are holding brochures, and the cars nearby have the same brochures on their windows. Suddenly, in a flash of canary yellow, option 3 appears. "Mom! get in! I'll save you!" Hmm, yep I'll take option 3.
Fwoosh. Forget chairs, I'm with my daughter on this one. One boss is terrifying enough, and sixteen is just downright scary. Especially if they have brochures, according to Mary.