Raku Gallery

Elite '09

86

124

Elle T.

Phoenix, AZ

5/31/2008

I was not wearing a velvety black pantsuit, painfully obvious chunks of jewelry, blonde frosted grey hair in a ponytail, or cosmetically-enhanced body parts aged 40 or above.

Therefore, I got about-faced.

My party entered this "gallery" studded with "unique" "raku" and "art" - casually but smartly dressed - on a mission to find our friend's mother that perfect piece of jewelry as a gift. Despite wearing jeans and having a bag whose name was not Gucci, Coach, or Louis Vuitton, I (and everyone who I was with) could have afforded any piece of (overpriced) jewelry in their case.

But as soon as we entered, the employee on the floor sized us right up - in a very obvious way - and literally snapped back around to focus on eyeing the aforementioned velvety frosty greys with (presumed) larger credit lines and (apparently) greater value as humans.

Bitch about-faced us. And avoided all eye contact and greetings as we made a loop through the store, just to see if she would finally acknowledge us.

Get the eff over yourselves. You exist in Jerome - not Florence, Italy. You are "artists" - I guess, not MacArthur Fellows.

You have a highly inflated sense of self-worth, lost business over horrendous customer service, and gained one very honestly scathing review.

Congratulations!

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