...Where Fashion Has the Right-of-Way...

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!"