I work at the high-end kitchen store, which is located in the Really Expensive Mall. We have stores like Cartier and Fendi and Chanel … and that’s just in the food court. What struck me as a teensy bit odd the other day was the Lamborghini parked inside next to Starbucks.
That’s right: inside. Not in the handicapped spot or in the yellow zone, or even on the actual sidewalk, but in the mall. I soon realized that it was the Really Expensive Mall’s answer to the kiosk. Other malls have impulse buys like Pillow Pets, Ice-Cream Dots, and Bead-A-Necklace; we have cars that cost more than my house.
So I walked past the stop-sign red (oh, the irony!) Lamborghini parked inside and who did I see flouncing along but Betsey Johnson. Okay, it wasn’t really Betsey Johnson, it was a girl who works in her store. This is what she was wearing to go to work:
Instantly, maybe sooner, I became painfully self-conscious and regretful of my pathetic outfit, which I had thought (in my middle-aged stupidity) was a perfectly good idea for the high-end kitchen store.
Betsey Johnson Girl probably ate sparkley barrettes for breakfast. Her taste was the polar opposite of mine, wait—not even polar opposite: galaxy opposite.
I stood gawking at Betsey Johnson Girl, wondering if she got her Hollywood-Paris-Barbie clothes and make-up for free from working there or if she was just sort of, you know, born with them already attached.
Imagine my surprise when she addressed me.
“Ma’am? Excuse me, ma’am?”
I glanced around. I was the only one there, so she had to be talking to me.
“Yes?” I squeaked.
“I love your skirt.”
Huh? Was she mocking me? Why would she love my skirt? My antique brain realized that there was a moment hanging there, hanging in the air like a stray sequin. I needed to say something back to Betsey Johnson Girl, something nice about her shoes or purse or …
“Car. I love your car.” I nodded toward the Lamborghini. She laughed, getting my attempt at a joke.
Turns out, we had exactly the same taste after all.
(“Magic Of Vroom”)