the rich people problem
Storyboard Text
- Bettina Ortiz y Meña was not accustomed to waiting. A former Miss Venezuela and Miss Universe runner-up, of course, the exceedingly bronzed strawberry blond was these days the wife of Miami auto-parts tycoon, Herman Ortiz y Meña
- at every restaurant she chose to grace with her presence, she was always greeted with reverence and whisked to the exact table she desired.
- Today she wanted the corner table on the terrace at Sip Sip, her favorite lunch spot on Harbor Island She wanted to sit on one of the comfy orange canvas director’s chairs and stare out at the gently lapping turquoise waters while eating her Kale Caesar salad, but there was a large noisy group taking up the entire terrace and they didn’t seem in much hurry to leave.
- She wanted to sit on one of the comfy orange canvas director’s chairs and stare out at the gently lapping turquoise waters while eating her Kale Caesar salad, but there was a large noisy group taking up the entire terrace and they didn’t seem in much hurry to leave.
- Bettina fumed as she glared at the tourists happily savoring their lunch in the sun. Look how tacky they were…the woman overly tanned, wrinkled and saggy, none of them properly lifted or botoxed. She felt like walking up to their table and handing out her dermatologist’s business cards. And the men were even worse. All dressed in all rumpled shirts and shorts, wearing those cheap straw
- Bettina fumed as she glared at the tourists happily savoring their lunch in the sun. Look how tacky they were…the woman overly tanned, wrinkled and saggy, none of them properly lifted or botoxed. She felt like walking up to their table and handing out her dermatologist’s business cards. And the men were even worse. All dressed in all rumpled shirts and shorts, wearing those cheap straw hats sold at the trinket shot on Dunmore Street. Why did such people have to come here?
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