So that's what you call 'em

When I was looking through some old Vogues the other day I realized I hadn't shared a very weird & awakard incident that occured a few months ago between me and some socialite.  A few months ago, I needed to get a replacement Bodum French Press from Sur la Table (I promise I am not getting any reimbursement of any kind from these two companies.  However, if they are willing to give me a reimbursement at some point I  will gladly take it) for my finiciky lesbian "holier than thou" then-roommate.  I broke her french press, and since I didn't want to piss off the bitch, I offered to replace it. So I went trailing off to the SoHo Sur La Table.  Ohhhhhhhhh SoHo.  It used to be cool, diverse and artsy.  But it's really just a bunch of young Upper East Side refugees pretending to be cool, diverse and artsy when they really just have sticks up their asses.  Back to the story;  I go into Sur La Table, go to the resgister and ask the sales person (a Cooler Than I'll Ever Be Asian Chick) to check and see if they have this specific size of french press.  As the CTIEBAC goes to the back, I wait at the register.  Another salesguy ( a somewhat overweight, but seemingly nice computer programmer type) starts ringing people up; and in enters anonymous socialite number 5467B (As if I'll ever give you the person's name.  But one hint, let's say she's all about safety). Now I've seen this socialite in Vogue and the New York Times a lot, and everyone talks about how her pedigree really isn't up to par.  Nevertheless, I figured because all of the shit she gets she would be a somewhat down to Earth person.  I never go up to celebrities (I'm not sure she's quite up to celebrity status, but still a noteworthy person) so I figured it might be ok to approach her.  Plus, I don't mean to toot my own horn here; but I'm a decent looking person, dress fairly well and could create full sentences. So, I figured it would be ok to say something to her.  So I was pretty much dead wrong on all of my accounts here.  I turn to her and say, "Hey aren't you that socialite?"  She bristles, does not look in my direction and doesn't respond.  I say "excuse me, aren't you that socialite?"  OF COURSE, at this point the CTIEBAC has returned to witness this mess of a situation I put myself in.  #5467B turns at me looks like she's about to cry, and yells "I AM A JEWELRY DESIGNER!!!"  I sheespishly say, "ohhh ok.  I just know that I see you in Vogue all of the time" to which #5467B giggles takes her things, looks me up & down in anger (because I dared to speak to her) and leaves.  I look at CTIEBAC and say "I didn't realize calling someone a socialite was an insult"  to which CTIEBAC looks at me and giving about an 1/8 of shit about the incident; informs me that the french press was not in stock.

I suppose jewelry designing has now replaced handbag designing as the go-to socialite make believe career.  Only in New York would someone have a problem with being called beautiful & rich. In some way I can respect #5467B for that.  But the bitch is confused, she's a socialite.