Remember where I work? I’d almost forgotten–it’s the Fashion Mall. For Fashion People. I pulled into the Brown Parking Garage at work today, (the fact that it’s called the Brown Garage means nothing. There’s also a Green Garage that is actually painted tan. One of the many things that makes no sense about Scottsdale…) and had to slam on Tamra Camry’s poor little anti-lock brakes in an attempt to save both her life and my own. Had I not, we would have surely perished at the hands of a harried Porsche driver. (Why, I ask, would anyone be harried if they were driving a Porsche? If I could afford to drive a Porsche, it would only be after I could afford to pay the maid, butler, gardener, and daily hairstylist. I would not have a care in the world. I would pay someone to be harried for me. But that’s just me…) Do keep in mind that it was clearly my turn to go–or at least it would have been, in a sane city like Mesa. Evidently I’d forgotten that traffic laws change once a person crosses over the border between Scottsdale and The-Rest-of-the-World.
In Scottsdale, fashion has the right-of-way.
Later in the food court, as I stood in the chaotic line to order a Diet Pepsi at Paradise Bakery, I was rudely cut off by a lady toting a chihuahua in a Louis Vuitton puppy-dog carrier. (I am not telling a joke. I thought people like that only existed on Entertainment Hollywood, but I was quite wrong.) I was cut off at the hands of Fashion. This time, though, I shouldered my way before her in all my frump-girl glory. A shocked expression washed over her liposuctioned 22 year-old face (oh, hadn’t you heard? Aging happens sooner in Scottsdale, too!) and she was utterly speechless. I walked away carrying my medium Diet Pepsi triumphantly, like a trophy for all the name-brands to see. I wanted to shout, “And I even got the 10% mall employee discount! It’s not much, but it covers the tax!”