Monday, April 16, 2012

Hey Dorothy, Check out My New Shoes

I had to buy new shoes this weekend. I work in an office environment so they needed to be “business casual” and they needed to be relatively inexpensive because I had already spent $52 and my left nut on a tank of gas. Seriously, when are we going to drop the oil speculators on a deserted island and let Ted Nugent hunt them for sport? I think that’s a reality show we can all get behind.

I went to Kmart. I don’t go there often but they have a good selection of nice, decently priced footwear. I found a pair of brown Thom McCann’s that was my exact size, 9.5 wide. Finding wide shoes at a department store can be a miracle along the lines of at least one movie a week coming out that doesn’t revolve around vampires. Considering myself Mr. Lucky I sat down to try them on. Let’s just say Mr. Thom McCann needs lessons in sizing shoes.

My size is 9.5 wide, always has been, still will be on December 21, 2012 when the Mayan calendar kills all of us in an Irwin Allen production. With this shoe I was able to get my big toe and a sliver of my arch inside. Shaking my head, I pulled a 10 wide off the shelf. This time I got all my toes in AFTER having them bound by a Chinese man who happened to be in the store purchasing air freshener and a bocce ball set.

Disgusted, I gave up on the brown shoes, pulling out a pair of black ones who were made by . . . Thom McCann. I thought, different style of shoe, let’s try the 9.5 wide. I was able to dangle my foot inside as though I was soaking it in Epsom salt laced water, but not as though I were actually wearing the shoes to work. I didn’t even bother with the 10s, instead went right to the 11 wides. Viola, my feet have a new home from 8:30 – 6:30 every Monday through Friday.

On the way to the registers I grabbed some new socks because I was feeling capricious. I had the approximate cost in my head when I went through the check-out line so you can imagine my initial shock when the clerk said, “That will be $657.18.” She took my fainting as a sign she may have done something wrong and rang everything up again. I will admit the new total of “3 goats and a lock of pixie’s hair” was better, but I was all out of anything from a mythological being since that Joseph Campbell party a few weeks ago.

I was finally given a total I could pay although it still didn’t seem right. When I was finished I found a quiet spot to compare the receipt to the tag on the shoes and they had overcharged me by $5. I won’t go into my trip to the service desk as I think you’ve had enough of my gross hyperbole for one day. I mean, 500 words about me buying a pair of shoes? Who do I think I am?

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