Yesterday, my friend Maxine and I went shopping at the Nordstrom in Woodland Hills. It’s a special Nordstrom with its own designer boutiques, and it carries a lot of high-end shoes.
While we tried on our shoes, a horrible woman seized our attention as she marched by us to the Dior display and started shouting. Even if we were deaf, we would have stared at her. She was a living vision of everything that’s wrong with everything.
Long blond hair extentions, surgically flattened face with swollen lips, True Religion Jeans, towering Chanel clown shoes, a massive snakeskin handbag, an accent like Zsa Zsa Gabor amplified through a bullhorn, and a tragic sheepskin vest.
She commandeered our salesman, marching him over to another shoe display and making him hold her coffee. I was fascinated by this display of cartoonish obnoxious behavior, but Maxine just wanted to get the hell out of the shoe department.
When we saw the horrible woman upstairs, I felt compelled to get a picture of her, so I followed her around, pointing my cellphone at her. She raced around, screaming “Size zero, that’s me! I want this! Get me a room started!”
She was amazing. The poor saleswomen scurried after her, trying to meet her demands.
We saw her once again, in the Chanel boutique downstairs, making someone truss her with a chain belt. I wanted to hang around to see how much shit the Chanel people were willing to take, but Maxine wouldn’t let me.
Bye bye, horrible woman! It was fun shopping with you!