First off, I was in jeans. I was kind of disheveled — unshaven — quite hideous, actually.
I was shopping for my wife — frantically looking for a birthday present. I was at a fancy store, trying to get something, well, fancy.
The help there couldn't have been more dismissive.
They were snooty, arrogant, even condescending. It's as if they all watched CNN. OK, that's a joke. But I mention it to make this point. No one knew me there or recognized me. That's OK. Here's what wasn't OK:
A customer there eventually did and went to tell the aforementioned snooty help who I was. Then, lo and behold, I'm a rock star.
"What can we get for you Mr. Cavuto?"
"Is this your wife's color, Mr. Cavuto?"
"Do you need any help with that item, Mr. Cavuto?"
Suddenly, I'm a chunky Mick Jagger and, would believe, creating a scene?
Now keep in mind, up until a few minutes ago, none of these people would have anything to do with me. That's snooty. That's arrogant. And that's... my fault.
I shopped in a place where you expect snooty and arrogant. But it was for a good cause. It was for my wife. I knew what I was getting into. But I suspect all too few people do. We accept people who are condescending in fancy stores because, well, it suits them.
Believe me, if they knew who she was, they wouldn't have acted that way. Just like until these knuckleheads knew who I was, they "did" act that way.
I suspect someone pushing brain surgeries has a right to be a little arrogant. I suspect someone pushing handbags does not. Which is as close as I'll ever come to telling you where I was shopping. And where I left... empty-handed.
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