I mentioned in my last post that I applied for a part-time job at Sephora. Today, I got a call from a manager there who told me she had good news: I got the job. I was so ecstatic you’d think I won the lottery.
My friends will tell you that few things light up my face like a trip to Sephora, where I can easily spend a couple of hours captivated by rows and rows of make-up. (Mary Lisa Gavenas describes perfectly in her book Color Stories: Behind the Scenes of America’s Billion-Dollar Beauty Industry what I, along with thousands of other women are buying into when it comes to cosmetics. But I don’t care. I love them anyway!) Sephora tops my list of places to visit when I travel to new cities. The store in Paris, a sprawling, colorful landscape, is a make-up addict’s dream.
And now, starting tomorrow, I get to don the store’s black uniform. The last time I wore a uniform was in high school, when I worked at TCBY. Selling yogurt was a lot easier. Chances were pretty good that customers were going to walk out with a waffle cone. The sale is more challenging at Sephora. Customers can try on eyeshadow and lipstick all day long and walk out with nothing.
Hmm. I’ve got to go now. I have to practice my sales pitch.
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