Tuesday, November 14, 2006
He Do Voodoo
It's a shame my internship at the magazine is coming to an end; I am really gonna miss the spooky people I get to meet on a daily basis. For example:
Today, my editor invited me to her meeting with a fellow pedaling his magical oil wares. Son of a Voodoo priestess who "inherited the spiritual gifts" of his family, this guy has created a line of oils and sprays that correspond to the needs of your aura. I mean, finally!
In the beginning, I kept my hand over my mouth and my eyes down to stop laughing while he chanted and told me his soul didn't need a glass of water when I offered one. In the middle, when he was diagnosing my health problems ("You know what asthma really is, right? The symptom of an oppressed childhood" and "Your jaw's aura is sending out dangerous sparks") I wasn't smiling no more. And by the end, when he was watching my every move ("Oh oh see! You wanted to take a breath right there, but the affluvia wasn't letting you - so you cleared your throat instead") I wanted him dead.
Fortunately, he had a happy little mohawked, European sidekick who gave me a cute, overly priced tshirt "celebrating my skin color" ("peachy" apparently) to make amends. And free stuff, like a rock to scissors, trumps spooky any day.