by Alison Sloan

Created on: April 24, 2009   Last Updated: April 27, 2009

There's no one quite like Grandma.

Heart roasted. A good old Scottish saying. That's how I felt when I spotting the sales people hovered by Sainsbury's exit.

They flanked the doorway in an attempt to block escape. I tried sprinting passed, not easy with a dodgy shopping trolley, arthritic knees and tender bunions. Unfortunately, I glanced up; catching the eye of the smart suited one with the laminated information leaflets in his hand.

His smile, strangely evangelical, was marred by the frank desperation in his eyes. I imagined my eyes mirrored that same emotion but he must have taken it for a flicker of interest or maybe he just saw a grey haired lady, sporting easy-wear slacks and a hand-knitted Aran cardigan. Rule number one in the salesperson's guidebook: make eye contact.

"A very good day to you, ma'am, I can see you are one busy lady but could you spare a moment of your time?"

I glanced at my wristwatch, ten minutes until my grandson Aaron came to collect me, too short to enjoy even the quickest coffee. Yes, it seemed I had the time, so why not make someone's day.

I peered at his nametag. "Hello, Clint is it? Would you believe it? You are in luck. I've got a couple of minutes to spare before I collapse, so go on then, hit me with your spiel."

A wide grin spread across his face, brown eyes crinkling; that smile seemed to say, 'Oh you Scots with your ironic humour'.

He had beautiful teeth, even and white, for a second I imagined a ping of light sparkle at the corner of his mouth. American teeth. I appraised the craftsmanship of one excellent orthodontist.

Reluctantly I smiled back, flashing my own dilapidated gnashers, years of use and an antiquated dental regime had taken its toll. My smile, nonetheless, elicited such a charming response it almost unravelled five decades of cynicism, transforming me once again into a giggly adolescent. Something in his eyes held the kind of eagerness to make my acquaintance that I hadn't encountered in years. Strike two in the salesperson's handbook: engage your mark.

"May I ask you your current telephone provider?"

"Oh, I'm with BT at present," I simpered with girly abandonment, rather unseemly in one so archaic, "but I have been thinking about changing to someone else."

"You have?" He looked slightly taken back. Not the usually response then? I expect he now mentally tried to skip passed rule three and four in his sales pitch and head straight to number five; make that sale.

Actually, I lied about the BT landline. I may be a pensioner,

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