I never thought I would be one of those girls who works at a mall. But now I do–at the Scottsdale Mall, no less. [I am glad I can at least say I work somewhere reputable, like an art gallery, as opposed to Forever 21 or Limited Too or something teeny-bopper like that.] The Scottsdale Mall can’t just be called “The Scottsdale Mall,” however. It is more correctly known as the Scottsdale Fashion Mall. For fashion people. (Although my fiance’s niece Ady is most definitely a fashion girl, most people who know me cannot argue that, sadly, I do not fall under this category. See?)

Fashion people wash their hair even when they aren’t going anywhere…

Anyway, the Scottsdale Fashion Mall is like nowhere else in the country (except maybe 5th Avenue in NYC, or the entire universe we know as Beverly Hills). I went into work today and was reminded why I usually choose not to shop there. I parked my 1999 white Toyota Camry at the only place available by the time the mall opens: The Outcast Lot. Nobody who actually lives in Scottsdale will park there, because they are afraid their H3s and Jaguars and BMWs will get keyed by the frustrated-with-their-station-in-life bourgeoisie. But there, amongst the other late models, Tamra the Camry felt right at home.

Tamra Camry, ever unassuming. Doesn’t she look unassuming? I bet if she had a mind, she would spend all day just thinking, “I don’t assume much.”

The Outcast Lot is strategically placed at the entrance between Tiffany & Co., Louis Vuitton, and Prada, so as to remind the untouchables of their status (or lack thereof). I entered the mall wearing a white eyelet skirt I got on clearance at Target, a hot pink wrap-around top that I’ve had for years, and nondescript white wedges from Payless (where I paid impossibly less because of a back-to-school sale my senior year. Of high school). Oh, and a Hawaiian shell necklace my sister got me as a souvenir, just for a bit of frosting.

I think the Scottsdale Fashion Mall is on high alert for people like me. It’s like the CEO put out a memo: “Attention all security personnel: This is an APB. This is not a drill. Be on the lookout for tall, overweight Caucasian females. May be seen wearing a number of generic brands at any given time. Possibly toting overstuffed pleather handbags. If searched, said pleather handbags likely contain a variety of Bonnie Bell lip glosses. These cosmetics are highly mediocre–again, highly mediocre. Be on high alert. This is not a drill.”

Walking tall, though, right? Seven days a week.

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