Sally Jacobson

Sally Jacobson is 18 years old. She is the daughter of a huge corporate, business man, and she gets everything she wants. No question about it. She is a full-out, California-valley girl. Born and raised in the outskirts of Hollywood, she grew up around the “fab” life. Always wearing miniskirts, shawls, and sunglasses, she prances around like she owns the whole city. But then again, her father pretty much does. While people sit out on the streets, homeless, poor, and begging for money, she spends at least $200 a day on her Chihuahua; wardrobe only. She is on a strict “chicken salad only” diet, and cares more about her figure than anything else in the world. One time, I saw a waitress put broccoli in her salad, (which happens to be madam’s least favorite food.) Let’s just say that poor waitress is no long employed. How do I know all of this you ask? Well, unfortunately, I am Miss Sally’s assistant. An 18 year old having an assistant?! I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But to be honest, it’s not as bad as it seems. I only have three duties to fulfill. One, I have to make her look good; no matter what! If someone complains about something she is wearing, I defend her. If something she does is wrong, I make it look as if it was right. Two, I set up all her dates, events, and schedule completely. Lastly, it’s my responsibility to get her a double-mint-pinched triple chocolate mocha latté every morning at 9 o’clock on the dot. See, pretty simple.
I am only 17 myself, so I can pretty much relate to everything Sally is going through. Plus, the job has its perks. I get into all the popular parties, I’m always in the right spot at the right time for the craziest of all drama to go down, and I get to meet some very interesting people. Everything has always gone pretty well for me and this job. I have never messed up bad enough to be yelled at, and even though I don’t get much attention from her, Sally still depends on me for a lot of things, whether she’ll admit it or not. Up until today, I thought I was doing pretty well. Before I get into detail, I must add, today was the day that the biggest sale in Hollywood was released. Chanel bags, originally anywhere from $600-$1200 were now only $200 a bag. To Sally, this was better than a cure for cancer. She had been talking about this day for months, and she made it clear that she was depending on me to arrange how she would get to 367 Laceyville Avenue, and she expected to be first in line. This morning, I thought I had everything set up. The limo driver was informed to be there three hours early. And every important person who worked at the Chanel store had talked to Sally’s father, and was aware that Miss Sally Jacobson was expected to be first in line; if only things had gone as planned.
The limo driver was 20 minutes late, which was practically just as bad as being 4 hours late to Sally. She was infuriated. She even told me that if she wasn’t already so late, she would have called for a different driver. I took the blame, only because I thought Sally would be impressed at the fact that I took responsibility. But she wasn’t. She was only pleased because she now knew who was at fault, and she needed someone to blame. The whole drive downtown was a disaster. Traffic was a nightmare. There was an accident and roadblocks. Nothing was going the way it was planned. At the rate we were going, I didn’t expect to be first in line, and I knew that all Satan was going to be let loose if that didn’t happen. But I held my breath, and hoped for the best. When we arrived, we were still first in line. I thanked my lucky stars. We waited and waited and waited, and when it got a little chilly, I offered Sally my jacket; but I was rejected. I could tell she was still upset at the limo incident. The line behind us grew and grew; stretching around four blocks. Right when we THOUTGHT the manager came to open the door, she looked at Sally and said “Excuse me, I understand that you have had your father make arrangements to be first into the store, but someone of more importance has just unexpectedly arrived, and she will be the first into this sale.” The look on Sally’s face was UNFORGETABLE. I thought World War III was about to begin. I tried to mutter words to keep her calm. “Uh, uh, I, I, but…” but nothing would come out. I had nothing to say, nothing to do to help. Sally’s father was not going to be happy about this. But unexpectedly, Sally slowly composed herself, clinched her fists, and took a step back. We were all waiting to see who this oh-so-important person would be. Who on earth would have the nerve to take Sally Jacobson’s spot in line, and take the risk of having to deal with her father. We were all standing there in embarrassment. A few moments later, Paris Hilton, THE Paris Hilton, trotted right in front of us. All of our jaws dropped. A few seconds later, Sally managed to spit out the words “That’s, that’s, that’s, p-p-p-p-Paris Hilton?!” I was in awe. I tried to stay composed and act like nothing epic was happening, but who was I kidding? Hollywood’s biggest drama queen, and the only person Sally Jacobson had ever thought was better than her, was standing two feet away from me.