Too many Scarletts
(February 9, 2005)

Nobody ever wakes up early on a Sunday morning to say "Let's go shopping!".  No, not at all.  Sunday is spent sleeping in, breakfast in bed and generally recovering from the Saturday night.  The only time someone might leave the house is for Sunday morning church.  No, Sunday mornings are definitely not for shopping. 

This is the precise reason why a keen shopper knows to shop when the mall opens on a Sunday.  No crowds, no line-ups because the mall is dead.  This is especially true at my mall; the Eaton Centre.  Now any keen shopper knows the mall opens at noon but only the stupendous shopper (like myself) knows that the mall's department store, "Rachel's" opens its street level doors at 11 AM.

I arrived at Rachel's one Sunday morning to replenish my supply of perfume.  I entered through the street entrance and browsed my way to the south end of the store to the cosmetic section at the mall entrance.

I tried all sorts of disappointing perfumes until I came across Calvin Klein's new Eternity.  It had the scent of a dozen long stemmed daisies wrapped in a silk cloth.  I had found my new perfume.  As I was purchasing the exotic scent at the counter I heard a female voice yell.

"Hey you!"
"Hey you!  in adorable pink coat.  I talk to you!"

Although it was a compliment directed at me, I ignored it.  I ignored it until she tapped me on the shoulder.

"Did Scarlett make you buy?"
"Excuse me?"
"Did Scarlett make you buy?"

Still not understanding my delusional admirer, I followed her pointed finger up to a poster overlooking the Calvin Klein display.  It was famed Hollywood it girl, Scarlett Johansson promoting my perfume.

"Oh no, no, no.  It wasn't her.  It was the smell.  Try it."
"Hmm... daisies in silk.  Very good."

When two people adore the same perfume, it is a given they become fast friends.  

"I sorry I yell.  See, I am model."
"Well, dip my head in a pile of poo, You're the supermodel Scarlettina!"
"See."
"What are you doing in my Rachel's?"
"Supermodels, um, take over by 'actresses'.  Look!"

She pointed at each cosmetic company's posters.

"Brittany's own.  Beyonce and Tommy.  Elizabeth Hurley and Estee Lauder.  These okay because they no other talent than beauty but..."

She pointed at more posters.

"Charlize Theron, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Nicole Kidman, Halle Berry and Susan Sarandon.  All Oscars.  Where are supermodels?  Where?"

I looked at the posters and it was true.  Charlize Theron was promoting Dior.  Catherine Zeta-Jones was plastered all over the Lacombe counter.  There was a huge Nicole Kidman poster pumping Chanel.  The Revlon section was full of Halle Berry and Susan Sarandon.  There were all Oscar winning actresses.  There were no supermodels modelling in the cosmetic section.

"Susan Sarandon old.  Old people no model perfume.  No old supermodels."

I disregarded Scarlettina's politically (and grammatically) incorrect statement and continued to look around the cosmetic section.

"Hey wait.  Scarlett Johansson hasn't won an Oscar and she has an ad.  What's wrong with her?"
"Scarlett Johansson is very baddest.  Scarlett no Oscar.  Scarlett no good movie.  Scarlett no beauty."

"True, she hasn't won an Oscar but 'no good movie', what about Lost in Translation and Ghostworld?"
"Lost in Translation - Lost in Screenplay.   Ghost World - I wish I ghost so no see movie again."

"Okay, you might be right about Lost in Translation but no beauty?"
"Yes, no hour-glass figure.  No hips.  Girl-next-door?  Yes.  Supermodel?  No."

"You, Scarlettina.  I told you never to come back in here.  Go back to your striking friends in the mall." an employee from Rachel's shouted.

I followed my supermodel friend out to the mall.  Just outside of Rachel's, to the right, were five or six supermodels in bikinis lounging about in reclining lawn chairs.  They had misspelled picket signs resting up against the wall behind their relaxed chairs.  They were giggling and laughing.

"What's this Scarlettina?"

"It my supermodel friends.  We protest cosmetic companies paying actresses instead of supermodels."
"I don't think protestors are suppose to be giggling."
"It okay.  They have fun."
"Yeah, that's what I mean.  I don't think fun is allowed."
"What wrong with fun?  Fun good for moral."
"True."

"The picket signs.  They are spelt wrong.  I can help with that."
"What you mean?"
"It's 'Scarlett Sucks', not 'Scarlett Socks'."
"Oh good.  help us please."

I fixed their signs.

"So what are you doing besides this protest?"
"Hunger Strike!"
"Excuse me?"
"We no eat."
"I don't want to be critical Scarlettina, but you are supermodels - you don't eat anyways.  When you strike you must sacrifice something that you do."
"Big misconception.  Supermodels eat just like you.  Only we eat parasites for dessert."
"Parasites?  Why?"
"They eat food in our stomach for us.  Very good at keeping beautiful figure housewife jealous of."

"Okay but many people don't know that.  You are going to need to do something more drastic to get people's attention."

"Like..."

"I don't know, if you dislike Scarlett Johansson so much maybe you should vandalise her gigantic 2 storey high Calvin Klein ad that lines the inside of the mall.  But you can't do that with security and all."

"Leave that to me."

The supermodels organised themselves and quickly left.  I followed them to the gigantic Scarlett Johansson ad.  Scarlettina and a few of the other supermodels ran inside the little maintenance door left of the ad.  Within moments, two maintenance men were setting up a rope and pulley system with the top rafters.  They tied Scarlettina's wrist to the rope and equipped her with spray paint.  They slowly tugged on the rope until she was up in the air - level with Scarlett.

The rest is quite evident.  The picture explains it all.  This episode of my life had no violence, no falling - it was simply a bunch of supermodels on a hunger strike vandalising a Calvin Klein ad.  No biggy.