Susan Berman ~ Michael Bondanze ~ Doris Panos ~ Henry Dunay ~ Marlene Stowe!!

People who know me know I appreciate quality goods. I wouldn’t be caught dead forking over my preeminent scratch for kitsch from whatever middlebrow PierOne or Crate and Barrel-type store is popular this week. Good Heavens, no.

I drink Evian from a vintage Riedel. Store Kate Spade knickknacks in a Birkin. Custom Sansappelle p.j's between Pratesi sheets? Is there any other way?

Of course, I don’t flash my “bling.” I keep it classy. It’s all part of being sophisticated, cultured, and better than everyone else. Because of this however there have been times that I've found myself at George Greene or Morris & Sons without receiving the awe due to me. It’s as though my greatness—nay, immortality—are lost on these lumpen bastards.

Lumpen poser: You know that’s Brioni.
Working Boy: I love Brioni! I have 4 back at the luxury condo.
L.P.: Right. Where was that again?
W.B. Gold Coast. It’s the van de Rohe.
L.P. I thought you said you lived in a loft on Printers Row.
W.B: Um. No…that’s, where, uh, I work on my successful internet business—that I can’t talk about because I’m in secret buyout negotiations with Amazon and Google. Don’t you listen to anything I say, you stupid tool? Or can’t your studio apartment mind distinguish between a work/play office loft--with hot secretaries--from a Modernist masterpiece on Chestnut? Your kind disgusts me.
L.P: Oh really? And what is my kind?
W.B: I wouldn’t know. Being Italian royalty myself, I’m not familiar with plebian blood.
L.P: So you’re royalty too?
W.B: Does that surprise you?
L.P: Just a little. I would have thought, being Italian royalty, you would have known how to pronounce Isaia.
W.B: Like I said at the time, my Swiss boarding school destroyed my pronunciation.
L.P: That’s right. Now was that before or after you won the Croix de Chevalier des Arts et Lettres.
W.B: For a personal fashion slave, you have a rather brash tone.
L.P: Terribly sorry. So would you like to purchase the Lutanzi’s?
W.B: Um, would you happen to take homemade coupons?
L.P: Sorry, no.
W.B: I see. Well, since I seem to have left the gold bars in my hummer-limo, I’ll just take my coat and go back to my castle in Scotland.
L.P: Right away, sir. Yours was the GAP “windbreaker,” correct?

All that to say: Last night I went to the liquor to buy light bulbs, and some hooch. Being a high-class joint, all the booze is behind the register. I went up to the lady smoking a cigarette and said:

W.B: Whiskey!
Smoking Lady: Which one? half pint or pint?
W.B: Neither! I’ll take the 750.
S.M.: (obviously impressed) Right away, sir!

Now that’s customer service, and appreciation.