I just wanted a pair of shoes. There sure were a lot of them on the wall at the sporting goods store. I grabbed a shoe off the display and then found a salesperson where you always find them–on the loading dock smoking a cigarette.
“Check for these Adidas in a size 10, will ya? And these Vans, too.”
“No problem,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared in the back.
Moments later he returned.
“See if you have Converse, then.”
“How about these Asics?”
He left again. Twiddle thumbs.
Maybe every shoe they have in the store is actually out on the floor. Maybe they don’t make size 10 anymore. Maybe I’ll have to start making my own shoes. Or just stick my feet in empty shoe boxes and shuffle them on the ground.
He returned with a box.
“Dude, I didn’t have them in a size 10, but I found a size 13.”
“What? A size 13? Hey, no problem, I always wanted a shoe 3 sizes too big. I’ll just fill in the spaces with newspaper and baloney and gravel from my fish tank.”
“Actually, I always wanted to join the circus. What do you have in a clown shoe? I want shoes so long you have go down to the corner to turn around.”
“Wait, you know, I have been looking at new houses. Why don’t you bring out a shoe I can live in. You know, like the old lady and the shoe. I need a 2500 square foot shoe with 2 1/2 half baths and a two car garage. Quiet neighborhood but with lots of activities- golf, tennis, mahjong.”
“I need to be close to work but not so close I start going in on Saturday or something crazy like that. I’m not opposed to the worst shoe in a good neighborhood but no complete fixer-uppers, know what I mean? I can barely work a hammer, much less renovate a whole shoe. Got anything like that?”
He looked at me funny and disappeared in the back. He returned and said, “I found a red brick Nike colonial in a beach town with good schools.”
At least it was in stock.