Class, Privacy and Bad Manners

Okay, here's the thing.

I can tolerate people who think it's perfectly all right to hang their 8' by 8' club banner over several sections of the wine shelves. They've rented the wine shop for a private party and consider it their property, never mind that retail business is still being conducted.

I can tolerate and even be pleasant to the overdressed, overly made up women in their Gucci shoes, flashing oversized diamonds and painted nails as they gossip and snipe about where they're going for the holidays and how much it cost.

I can tolerate their husbands complaining about the price of jet fuel and the rising costs of tuition for private, European boarding schools.

I can tolerate catering to the rich and being treated like a scullery maid.

I can even tolerate watching the fake embraces and air kisses - it's so terribly continental.

However, when I watched a mildly well known doctor and his wife inspecting the half dozen gift baskets awaiting final wrapping and delivery for other customers and then open and read each of the six hand addressed and private gift cards as casually as they might read their morning newspaper, something snapped in me. I excused myself from pouring champagne and manoevered my way to the gift baskets and with the best smile that I could manage, asked Can I help you with something, doctor? Putting his arm around his wife's shoulders, he shook his head and hurried her away.

Money doesn't buy class.