Languages in LA

I am convinced that Pavilions on Santa Monica Blvd and Bristol Farms on Beverly are in a competition to see who can cultivate the most aggressively friendly employees. They pounce on you the minute you walk in the store.

 “Good afternoon! Happy Holidays! Do you need any help? Anything at all? Need a hug?” (only a slight exaggeration.)

 
At Pavilions, if you use a credit card, they see your name and say “Good bye, Miss Morrissey!” in a ringing voice so that everyone within ten feet now knows your name too.

 When you leave they can’t bear to see you go, and volunteer to carry your one tiny bag of cat food and protein bars out to the car with you, waving goodbye till you pull into traffic. Pulling into traffic takes time, too, because the nicer people are compelled to be to your face, the more psychotic they are behind the wheel of a car, suggesting that there is no more dangerous place to be than the parking lot of Pavilions at closing time.

 
Even the security guards will kill you with kindness, although at Bristol Farms, the true nature of the beast is evident in the jagged metal spikes that await the tires of any car trying to exit through the entrance. Nevertheless, it’s both pleasant and unnerving to go to pick up a bottle of wine and have the cashier so delighted to see you again that you feel guilty for not offering him a drink.

 
It’s almost a relief to go occasionally to Ralph’s across the street from Bristol Farms. where the cashier rings you up with the silent resentment of someone who blames you for her broken fingernail. But sometimes you just want to go where no one knows your name.