The Peasants May Not Touch the Furs

The city I live in is an interesting place. One half of it is what you might think of when you picture a normal, American suburb. There are people with incomes that range from not-so-good to average to good and everything in-between.

And then there’s the other side of my city. The holy-crap-she-just-spent-two-grand-at-Victoria’s-Secret-and-didn’t-blink-an-eye kind of side. The million-dollar-mansions-with-armed-guards-and-scary-fences kind of side.

Ironically enough, you know when you’ve reached that side of the city because most of the more expensive homes sit on dirt roads. Maybe it’s for the privacy (because, really, who would choose to drive on a dirt road just because?) I have no idea, that’s just how it is.

There’s a mall close to my house that is exactly like the city I live in. One side is just like any normal mall, and the other side makes you feel completely inferior to those around you. The people just have that look. Do you know what I’m talking about? The “I could buy you if I wanted to–if, you know, slavery wasn’t illegal” look.

The other day my friends and I were hanging out at the mall (Shout out to Chrystal who got herself a job in, what, half an hour? It was totally boss!) and we wandered into Macy’s. A tip for those of you who are, like me, a bit unobservant: A fancy Macy’s is not a place you just wander into.

How do you know if it’s a fancy Macy’s? If there is more breakable stuff than unbreakable stuff, there appears to be a high-heels only rule that you didn’t know about until you realize you are the only one not wearing them, and a basic shirt made out of basic black fabric is going to cost you upwards of $200, suffice it to say you’re in a fancy Macy’s. 

I immediately felt uncomfortable, but it was the store next to where we parked our car, so there was really nothing that could be done but to power walk through the place and hope the fancy-people didn’t notice that I looked like a hobo in a neon green sweater that should really be retired.

However, I’m a very easily distracted person, so as soon as I saw the sign “Fur Vault” I just couldn’t help myself. I mean, really! A vault of furs.

And in my defense, it really did cross my mind that these furs would be expensive, but it’s not like I have much experience with them, so I was thinking something in the $400 range.

Nope.

$6,000.

HOLY CRAP I JUST TOUCHED A SIX THOUSAND DOLLAR COAT. OH NO, NO, NO. I DON’T HAVE SIX GRAND! WHAT IF I ACCIDENTALLY SPILLED MY DR. PEPPER ON IT?!? RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!

And so I did. But not without receiving a super-judgmental look from an obviously rich old lady (IN A FUR COAT) that was passing by right at that moment.

Dear Lady Who Judged Me,

I am not a hooligan. If anything, I give of the “complete nerd” vibe, not the “I’m going to vandalize this fur jacket because, apparently, I have nothing better to do” vibe. So, just SUCK IT OLD LADY. What are you doing at Macy’s on a Friday afternoon anyway? Or maybe you actually don’t have anything better to do? Oh, buuuurrrrn.

Although, in retrospect I suppose you could say the same thing about me… awkward. My classes were cancelled, okay?!

I should just stop writing before this hole I’m digging becomes even bigger. Okay, I’m stopping. Right now.

Okay, bye!

Mel

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