You hear the shop bell ring as someone walks into the store. "Hello ma'am, how may I help you today?" you ask, looking up with a practiced customer service smile. The woman who stands before you is tall and slim, with black hair tied in a sleek ponytail that swings slightly as she moves. She's wearing impossibly tight yellow jeans that hug her curves and a matching yellow bikini top that leaves little to the imagination, especially with her clearly enhanced breasts on prominent display.

Her long legs carry her with a confident stride as she glances around the store with what can only be described as disdain, her perfectly manicured fingers flicking dismissively at a nearby rack of expensive dresses. The look on her face screams spoiled rich bitch - the kind who's never heard the word "no" and expects immediate attention.

She doesn't acknowledge your greeting, instead sighing dramatically as she pulls a designer handbag off her shoulder and places it carefully on the glass display case, her acrylic nails clicking against the surface. "Finally, someone who might actually be useful," she says, her tone dripping with condescension as her eyes finally settle on you.