This particular incident happened about a month ago. I was out in Orchard, meeting my friend, H, for lunch and a bit of retail therapy. I was crossing the road in front of 313, when I got stopped by two people. Now, can I just say, that I thought I looked extra hawt that day? I had my hair did, and I was wearing my heels, and I looked gorgeous, if I must say so myself.
Anyway, a guy and a girl stopped me. They said, “Excuse me?”
I said, “Yes?” all pensive-like, because I was already late meeting H.
They looked at each other and said to me, “Are you a model? You look like a model.”
Well, I must say, I was flattered. For them to think that I was a smokin’ hot model? My self-esteem rose up blindingly at a rapid speed in a matter of three seconds. I saw stars, and a world of opportunity in front of my eyes; the lights, the runway, the shoes, the male models, THE SHOES. For a second, I was transported to the world of runway fashion. I was going to be the next Gisele! Ohmigosh!
The guy said, “Um, so are you?”
I shook my head to get rid of the fantastic illusion and replied, ‘Hahaha, no I’m not.” I couldn’t stop smiling.
They said, “Wow, you look like a model! You’re beautiful! It’s your eyes! Where are you from? You look mixed-race! Those eyes.”
I laughed some more, immensely enjoying this flattery, “No, I’m not mixed, I’m Indian. But thank you for the eye compliment.”
They looked at one another once more, and said, “Well, is it possible for you to just give five minutes of your time? Just to fill out a survey.”
By then, I would’ve given them anything they asked for. I was that blinded by all the obsequiousness heaped upon me, I agreed. They smiled and led me into a nearby mall, and into their poky little office. I hesitated. Okay, so a model must be prepared at all times and be prepared to go places where she’d never otherwise go, but what was this exactly? They sat me down at a sofa, and they sat themselves down on either side of me. I felt like a human sandwich. Ehhhhh.
I think by that time I was so freaked out, I couldn’t really concentrate on what they were saying. Random words and images passed through my head; Stranger Danger, rape, kidnapping, RANSOM, police, missing persons report OHMYGOD.
From what I could gather from the bits and pieces I heard, I think they were promoting a new breakfast regime which consisted only of power shakes, as a way of weight loss. They made me fill out a form, took all my contact details, and showed me before-and-after pictures of people who had taken their power shakes and transformed from big, heavy people, to light, lithe ones. They had me take my heels off and measured my weight and asked me my height (damn them. Didn’t they know models were tall? Did they have to rub it in? GOD.) They then got me to hold a strange contraption up at arms’ length, and the woman took the machine and said to me, “Look, it says that you’re here in terms of your body fat.” She showed me a graph and pointed.
She said I had the fat of a fifty-year old woman.
A FIFTY YEAR OLD WOMAN.
“WHAT THE FUDGE?” I screamed in my head. What happened to the model thing? Suddenly, I was OLD? And FAT? Excuse me?
My hair went frizzy due to the sudden rage I felt. I grew fangs, not unlike the ones owned by Victor/Sabretooth, Wolverine’s violent brother. I growled and roared.
In my head, of course. I didn’t want them to think I was a head case.
Right then and there, I decided to get out of there. Especially, since, after that, she said to me, “Anyway, what’s your favourite flavour for milkshakes? Like, for me, I love chocolate.”
I squirmed visibly, clutching my phone and putting my shoes back on, “I don’t really have a preference.”
She looked mock-shocked, “Really? But what about ice-cream?”
I sized the distance between me and the door, “Um, I don’t really eat ice-cream. Look, I sort of have to go, so…um…”
She nodded vigorously, “Of course. But before you go, you have to try our power shakes! They’re really good, hold on…” and she disappeared towards what I assumed was the kitchen.
That was it. No way were they getting me to try some shady drink! It probably had drugs in it! Or worse, alcohol! Or something to make me faint! So they could call my parents up (because I gave them all my contact details), and demand an unholy amount of ransom. And when I got home, I would so be for it. Grounded for at least five thousand years. AH! I HAD TO GET OUT OF THERE.
I stood up, purposefully, and said, “Look, my friend’s waiting for me, and I really have to go.” I strode over to the door, and the guy saw me out.
“Thank you for filling everything out! We hope to hear from you soon! Bye!” Both of them said, cheerfully, waving and smiling.
I ran. And looked at my phone. Seven missed calls from H! Ahhh.
But anyway, my lesson from THAT encounter was that ohmigosh, flattery really does work! If you want to get something, you have to flatter people shamelessly! And people fall for it! Like I did! I mean, I am gorgeous and all that, but I’m no model material, because, obviously, I’m not very tall, and I’m constantly smiling, whereas models are known to be tall and sullen. And I can’t go without Oreos, and models can, obviously.
Anyway, I’m just thankful I escaped unscathed. The speed at which my self-esteem level ricocheted that day, it took quite a bruising though. Fat of a fifty year old woman? Whaaaaat. Psshhh.