This weekend, I bought a fake Gucci purse.
Now, I'm not the sort of gal that normally cares about things like labels, so let me explain. Having recently entered the corporate world, I am a bit lacking in the usual trappings of professional work dress, such as a nice but functional pocketbook. For the past three months I have been using a pocketbook that I stole from my Mother (she is an obsessive bag buyer), however, not only was it not especially attractive but also it had reached a point where it was barely usable due to the fact that it was falling apart.
I needed a pocketbook, and I didn't want to spend a lot on it, so I went to Chinatown. Yes, the same Chinatown that I mentioned last column, the site of that infamous fall. This time, there was less snow on the ground, but I still stepped cautiously. For those of you who may not know, Chinatown is the place in NYC that you go to if you want bootleg DVDs and fake designer merchandise. So I knew ahead of time that they sell fake Gucci purses in Chinatown, but I always thought that they were sold at scattered semi-secret tables with the Gucci label already on them. I had no intention of locating these places.
I wandered around for a little bit, stopping in various (millions) of little stands that sold pocketbooks. I stopped in one stand that was especially crowded for some reason. As soon as I walked in, the guy running the stand sidled over to me with shifty eyes, saying "miss" along with some other unintelligible things, and held out his hand. Cradled in his palm was a metal Pravda label. I shook my head "no" and walked out, feeling oddly like I was just asked to buy some crack.
I traveled on a bit more, and finally found a purse that seemed to be
about what I was looking for. A girl came over, and I asked how much
it was.
"$20" she said.
I nodded.
"And of course I'll put the Gucci label on for you" she added.
"Oh," I said, "is that extra?"
"No it's the same. 20."
"Uh, OK" I said. (What else could I say?)
And that is how I came to own a fake Gucci purse.
Friday was one of my co-worker's last day, so a bunch of us went to a bar after work. Going out for drinks with co-workers is really very funny. It's something I've always imagined to be one of the highlight of professional life, and it hasn't disappointed me. Everyone gets drunk quickly because no one eats anything before going, and it's always the oddest mix of people, and everyone always ends up saying the things they want to say during the day but don't dare.
There is one girl that I've dubbed "The most hilarious employee" because she always gets really drunk after two drinks and flirts with all the guy co-workers and pulls me aside to tell me secrets. She's really not very bright, but I like her anyway, because she loves me. Apparently last Friday (we also went out last Friday), one of the Sales guys (who she made out with at the Company Christmas Party but really didn't want to) kept on telling her that she's cute but so spacey, until she got upset and started crying because she didn't want to be spacey. I told her that he probably just said it because he feels like an idiot for what he did at the Christmas Party and knows that he is more into her than she's into him. She honestly thought I was a genius for thinking of that.
And then I got in a conversation with this guy about the times when you get that certain sort of drunk where you think that you are really witty. I recalled a time when a friend of mine fixed me a Mojito, which is a drink that involved a large amount of mint leaves. I was already quite drunk when he gave me this drink, and the entire time I was drinking it, I kept on saying things like "This is delicious, I'm drinking a salad" and "This is the best salad I ever drank!"
And I will leave you with that thought.
