LUXOMANIA, Confessions of a salesgirl in the secret world of luxury.

LUNCH BREAK

  At 12 o'clock sharp, the first wave of salespeople head down to the break room for lunch. Everyone is free to go out or eat in, but the exorbitant prices in the neighborhood do not leave us much choice. I decide to stay there with my Tupperware, yogurt and tangerine. Sitting at the big table among other staff, I listen to store gossip and everyone's life stories when suddenly Florent pushes the door open hard with a thud.

- "Oh la la ... I'm hot, I'm sweating, my butt crack is like a gutter!

The salespeople take turns commenting on scandals in the press, their noses buried in the magazines lying on a corner of the table. There's quite a compilation – the latest gossip, impromptu photos and a bunch of garbage – stacked like dirty rags. Each one takes it upon himself to criticize the string of stars before our eyes. I have to say that the president of the company himself appears regularly in this family album because he married a celebrity, with whom he has a child.

- "You saw that singer the other day? He came into the store to buy the latest chrono watch! But, look ... he's dating a guy?!"

- "And look at her! She's lugging around the Amalfi bag, which costs 3000 euros, on the beach in Saint Tropez. Can you believe that? ..."

So the lunch break is a moment of relaxation when the lives of celebrities become the main attraction. I'm sitting there quietly, listening and observing. Carmen is silent, engrossed in her TV Guide. Unperturbed. She is meticulously checking the TV schedule for the upcoming week, including the Miss World ceremony, and finishes off with the crossword puzzle. As for Mamadou, he is busy with Sudoku. Patrick is playing flying penguins on his I-phone, and laughing to himself, mouth wide open, full of chewed up pizza. What a pathetic lunch. I'm eating under neon lights, ensconced in the basement with my plastic bowl and coffee. Nobody asks me any questions or seems surprised to see me there, sitting with them. Clearly, no one is interested in the newbies. I feel so alone. I wish time could speed up and I'd be done with my trial period. But first I have to prove myself. The salespeople at Montezzo have the reputation of being the best. They dress everybody who is anybody, the jet set crowd, show biz and politicians. I've landed in unknown territory, so carving out a place for myself will be no easy feat. But for now, I'm just invisible, far less glamorous than the photo-novellas in the celebrity magazines.

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