The Secret Language of Shoes

I've always been able to sell myself for top dollar. I interview well, I speak intelligently and though I'm not of a higher education, I can write a top notch story with the best of them (pardon me for tooting my own horn a moment). I can also be incredibly convincing at almost anything I set my mind to talking someone into believing. In that regard, I'm an amazing salesperson.

When I was hired at Circuit City to be in charge of Loss Prevention at the Torrance location, I wanted to "sell" myself into the role I would be playing. The majority of employees were certainly male, being an electronics store, and in most places, girls were NOT a Loss Prevention asset. It was unusual, and that alone raised a few eyebrows. When I walked into the room, my petite frame and delicate features were instantly a topic of conversation.

I could feel the eyes staring me in the back of the head. I knew some of these guys would be trying to get away with random things just to test me. It didn't take long. I caught a few employees trying to take sodas out to their cars without paying for them. Tisk tisk...

That night, my very first night we closed with me on duty, we sat around up front waiting for the managers to finish the cash drop in the back of the store. Random conversations among the guys eventually ended up with asking questions about the new person, meaning me. I walked into this one fully prepared.

"How did you get into Loss Prevention," one of them asked, skeptically.

"Well," I paused in the mysterious manner I have naturally about me, "I read people. It's what I do. I've always done it."

Eyebrows raised, people leaned in, and I had the full attention of everyone within earshot.

"And exactly how do you do that?"

"It's easy. Everything about you tells something you wouldn't guess, from your hair cut to your shoes."

"Shoes? Seriously? Like as in Forrest Gump?"

"Well, not exactly like Forrest Gump, since I'm actually a real person, but in a lot of ways, yes."

"So tell me something about me," the first one said. I went a step further.

"Ok," I nodded. "Anyone interested, stand up against the counter there where I can see your shoes. I'll tell you each something about yourselves based on ONLY your shoes that not everyone here would know. Since I've only just met each of you today, you'll know it's legit and I'm not just getting fed the information from one person about one person. Ready?"

Every single young man in attendance at that moment went and stood in front of the counter. And I began.

"Ok," I said, pausing for another mysterious, dramatic moment. I was eating this up with a spoon and wasn't nervous even for a half a second.

"I'll start on this end," I said pointing to the nearest Circuit City employee. "Your room is a disaster and your parents hate it." I moved to the next, leaving this young man slack jawed. "Your room is spotless, but you should clean out your closet. It's a pig sty." Again, another jaw fell open and I moved on. "You should treat your mother better, you should either break up with your girlfriend or return her calls already since it's been a week now. You have a hidden talent that you don't want people to know about - either your a poet or a musician and don't play rock. You were in a lot of trouble as a kid. You have control issues. You hate the Police and any authority figure. You were born in the South, though you don't have an accent and nobody knows. You want to be a pilot. And you - " I paused again having reached the last guy at the counter, "you play soccer and pretend when you're at work that all you do is play video games."

There wasn't a closed mouth at the counter. Instantly they all began asking how I knew so much about each of them. I smiled. There was NO WAY I was going to give away my secrets! But in every single case I was 100% correct. They started clambering, begging me to tell them more. I could have analyzed each of them until I was blue in the face and they still would have wanted more.

Shall I share my secrets with you today?

The first person with the disastrous room - his shirt was wrinkled and his pants had creases indicating that they had been cleaned but not folded and put away. This is usually a sign, especially in the teen years, of someone who keeps an untidy room and piles laundry up on the bed, not wanting to put it away. As for the parents - what parents DON'T hate a messy room? The fact that his clothes were clean in the first place means SOMEONE in the house is clean.

The next kid had a clean room but a messy closet. I surmised this merely because his clothes were clean and pressed, but his socks didn't match and his shoes had cobwebs hanging from the laces. This was a shot in the dark and I lucked out. The cob webs could have come from the shoes being shoved under the bed.

The young man who should treat his mother better - I had noticed throughout the day that this young man had little to no respect for female authority. Another shot in the dark that lucked out. Apparently he had a fight with his mother before coming in to work that day.

The kid with girl trouble - As I was analyzing the others, his phone went off no less than 4 times. Each time he would hit the red "ignore" button. At a single glance I could tell it didn't say Mom or Dad or Tom, Dick or Harry, so I could only assume it was his girlfriend. If he was more interested in having his shoes analyzed than talking to her, I assumed they were having issues. Again, I was right.

The guy with the hidden talent ended up being a classically trained pianist who played beautifully by ear and never would tell anyone because he felt it was an embarrassment he couldn't read music. How did I know?? He walked to the beat of the store music without realizing it. He would occasionally tap his fingers on the counter while waiting on a customer as though they were the ivories of a piano. He always had a tune in his head. I threw in the bit about poetry just so it didn't give me away completely. It worked - he was astounded.

The kid that was a lot of trouble in his youth had several very ugly, very poorly done tattoos on his arms and neck - something that would be done by neighborhood gang bangers or crack addict. He tried to hide them with sleeves and bandaids at times, indicating that he was embarrassed by them. I imagine he had been a lot of work to raise.

The control issues - this one actually went directly to the shoes. There was a very tightly wound double knot on the laces, indicating (in my own mind) that he liked to keep a tight grip on things around him. He didn't like other people being in control of him, but he wasn't a control freak himself on most things - just on himself.

The authority hater - Have you ever seen sneakers that have perfectly smoothed laces across the tops all running in parallel lines, not crossing the way most shoe laces do? When the shoes go onto the person, the ends of the laces are tucked inside the shoe, not even tied, just shoved and hidden. This is a person who wants to break free of the 'normal' thing that would be done and go in their own direction. It's also how the Gang Bangers in Los Angeles wear their expensive, stolen shoes most of the time.

Born in the South - I'm sorry, but I don't care how long a person has been out of the South, they will always have a hint of that accent. I know, because I still have a hint of mine. Like others I know, I've worked hard to cover it up, but because I have gotten so good at that, it's very rare that anyone is able to hide it from me. I know what to look for because I know what I do to cover my own.

The pilot - he had Aviator sunglasses and a bomber jacket with him. That was a simple guess... Turned out that the following year the kid joined the Air Force and became a pilot.

The soccer player that hides behind video games - This one was the easiest. He was wearing soccer shoes, but he worked in an electronics store, staying mainly in the video game section.

So, I've shared a FEW of my secrets. I have many more for reading people - but I'm still quite good at it. After all, it's what I do for a living these days.

Remembering How to Live

My "usual" plans for Saturdays didn't work out today and I missed out on a very important weekly appointment I always look forward to all week. So, I decided that I needed some cheering up. Tonight I celebrated - well, for lack of anything else - ME!

I recently hurt my leg pretty badly and seem to only be ok when walking if my heel is elevated slightly. It eases pressure on that part of my leg I maimed. So, I took that as a good excuse to put on some heels and go for a walk. I slipped into a dress I've had for a while and have never worn and donned my favorite black boots for ankle support with a height adjuster. I then walked down to "George's Greek Cafe" in Belmont Shore where I treated myself to a lovely appetizer, Dolmathes for my entree, a glass of fine red wine to accompany, and then Baklava with ice cream and coffee for desert. The meal took about two hours to eat and I spread it out on purpose. I enjoyed and savored every minute of it.

As I sat there in the patio of the restaurant watching the people go by, I got several looks of approval. I guess my legs haven't lost their appeal, even if they have lost a bit of color from not having seen daylight in almost a year. It was refreshing, feeling like I didn't need a reason to throw on a dress and heels, but instead just to dress up because I felt like it.

Back in November I decided that once I got the position of Director at work, I would celebrate by having my first cigar in over a year. Well, life got in the way and that never happened for me. It just so happened that my favorite cigar shop was just across the street from Georges, so when I finished eating and payed for my meal, I decided to walk across the street to purchase a cigar to take home.

I stood at the register and pulled out my credit card to take care of the tab. As I stood there, suddenly the heel on my boot broke completely off and I nearly fell down. Another patron in the cigar shop caught me by the arm before I completely collapsed and helped me to a chair. It just so happened that I had bought a tube of super glue at Rite Aid earlier in the day for work and had it in my jacket pocket. So, as I sat there in the chair making small talk with the person who caught me, I tried gluing the heel back on my boot just to make it home. It was about a half mile walk at that point, and that wouldn't have been at all easy on a lame leg and a broken heel.

The super glue didn't want to work! I tried and tried, but it just didn't work for me. Finally, taking it as a bit of a sign that I wasn't meant to go home and hide for the rest of the night when it was only 6:30 pm, I asked for a light. The cigar I had picked out was a good, long smoke that took about two hours. I chatted and watched a Clint Eastwood movie with the regular customers who all wanted to know who this redheaded woman was in the shop smoking a cigar. When the two Long Beach Police Officers walked in, it was no different.

I've never had a problem holding my own with the boys. I was surrounded by men and yet I fit right in. There's nothing new there, most of my friends have always been guys. We talked cigars, sports, movies and Single Malt Scotch. Turns out I knew more about Scotch than most of the guys did. I always shine when that happens.

By the time I left I received 3 hugs from different people - the first hugs I've gotten in a VERY long time (other than Keira who hugged me last weekend after we saw a movie - @keiradazi on Twitter). I took a step out side and the heel I had tried in vain to glue back into position snapped off again and one of the Officers noticed. Suddenly I was being chauffeured home in a LBPD car front seat. By the time we pulled up, my neighbors were all looking out over the railing, wondering what was going on. This was WITHOUT the lights or sirens.

It's been a while since I got to sit in the front seat of a cop car. It was a memory worth reliving. I very much enjoyed it.

I found out before I left that most of the guys I met at the cigar shop tonight are there every Saturday. I think I found a new Saturday Night home! I'm remembering what it's like to have a life outside of my four walls and cat. I'm making friends again, finding something to do, and discovering I don't have to be so lonely or reclusive.

I've been missing something and someone so much lately, and suddenly the pain isn't as bad as it was. I ate a fine meal, had a glorious time, and was treated with the dignity and respect I wouldn't find if I walked into a bar here in California only wanting a glass of wine. I felt like I fit in with these guys. What's more, they felt like that too!

I think I'll go back next Saturday night as well. It was a pleasant evening and one I very much needed. More than that, it was one I deserved.

I think we should all do something like this once in a while. I really couldn't afford it, but I needed it and I enjoyed it. I hope each of you can find that moment of peace in your lives as well - that divine moment when pain doesn't exist, friends abound in the faces of strangers, and we feel just that much better at the end of a long week.

If you're ever in Belmont Shore - may I suggest these places?


George's Greek Cafe
5316 E 2nd St
Long Beach, CA 90803
Tel: (562) 433-1755
www.georgesgreekcafe.com


Anto's Cigar Lounge
5305 East 2nd Street, Suite 101.
Long Beach, CA 90803.
Tel: 562-438-5069.
www.antoscigarlounge.com






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Diary of a Shoe

When my mother was a child, her family was too poor to afford shoes. In the summer, all three kids would run around in the fields with bare feet. They had shoes for school, but mostly didn't worry about it. When my Grandmother did buy shoes because one of the three had outgrown theirs, she would hide them for a while in the closet. When finally she pulled them out for her kid to wear, my Grandfather would ask where the shoes had come from, knowing full well they couldn't afford a new pair of shoes. She would always answer with what she thought was the most honest answer she could give him safely.

"Oh, we've had these for a while now," though she failed to mention that they had remained in a box, in the closet, under a pile of blankets and photographs.

Shoes have been a valuable asset since their invention. The oldest found were from about 10,000 years ago, but were probably worn long before that. They were first evolved to protect the many tiny bones in the human foot, which has more bones in it than any other part of the body. It's progression eventually brought varied examples of shoes for different terrains and climates. Until the past few decades, shoes were NOT worn by most of the world, though. Shoes were always expensive, as they were for my Grandmother when my Mom was a child. With mass production, the prices dropped and more areas around the world could finally afford shoes. Still, many people nomadic and otherwise, still do not wear shoes.

What is the first thing most people do when they come home from work at night? For me, it's the removal of my shoes. My toes have been cramped up all day and they want to curl and twist, gliding over the carpet, cracking gently at the bends. They stretch and strain, glad to be free of the confined spaces and slide as easily as silk as I guide them over the coffee table before me. But the shoes I wear every day are not my favorite shoes. The ones I'm wearing would have to be my favorites.

Often I find that my "most favorite" of a select item isn't one that I've recently purchased or found or discovered, but the one with the most history. It's that way with T-shirts and that comfy pair of jeans that always fits just right. It's that way with a watch I know I can depend on, a piece of jewelry I can always find, a picture I keep in my wallet that someone wrote their name on. It's that way with shoes too.

My favorites are not a pair of sleek black heels, though I have two pairs I like very much. They're not sneakers or jogging shoes. They're not boots made of suede, or red pumps, or even open toed sling backs. They're not clogs or flip flops, they're not sandals or heels or loafers.

My most favorite shoes is a pair of shearling sheep skin moccasins with a large tear in the left, a big spot of bright blue paint dried on the right. They're dirty and old, and the rubber bottoms are all but falling off. I take these shoes on an airplane with me and change into them when the plane takes off, usually with a couple of odd looks in my direction by the person closest to me. They're also very warm and cozy, but NONE of those are the reason I love these shoes so much. And yet - all of them are.

In 2005 I sat on a window sill in Redondo Beach, watching the dolphins playing in the surf. My legs straddled the window sill. One of my brand new slippers fell off of a foot and landed on the stairs below. I got down from my perch, wandered to the door, and went to fetch my shoe. What resulted was an hour conversation with a neighbor I hadn't seen in a long time, starting out by him asking me why I was coming down the stairs without a shoe.



In 2006 I sat in my bedroom in Gardena on the Skype service, talking to someone more than 5,000 miles away. Though the person I was talking to had no idea, I was completely naked except the tan fuzzy slippers I so dearly loved. They kept my feet warm when everything around me was cold, dark and lonely. In that way, the slippers reminded me of the voice on the other end of the Skype service. That voice made me feel warm when nothing else could.



In 2007 my slippers were lost in a box during a move. I couldn't find them for months, and when I finally did I nearly wept for joy. I had been ruining all of my socks, running around on wooden floors with no shoes on! Not to mention, the cat was still a baby and loved to attack anything that moved. The leather slippers would be much harder to get through with those needle teeth. Somehow he still managed to get his teeth into one and tear a hole in the left foot, though.



In 2008 I painted my kitchen cabinets a beautiful bright blue color. My cat, then a year older, got into the paint and tracked it all over the house. I hollered and yelled, raising quite a fuss of screaming and scaring the poor bugger. He took off into my bedroom, little blue paw prints trailing behind him. When I discovered his hiding place, he had shoved his head into the toe of my slipper like an Ostrich hiding his head in the sand. There was that one little blue paw of his resting on the side of my right slipper. At first I was upset, but then I laughed. For as long as I kept the magical slippers, there would be an existing memory of my silly cat with his nose hiding in a shoe. As I reached down to pick him up, the shoe lifted into the air with his body. He started flailing about, slinging droplets of blue paint around in the closet, all over my high heels, all over me... His head was stuck! When I got the shoe off of his head, he curled up in my arms for the first time in months and didn't move for an hour. I was his savior.




In July of 2009 when my uhaul was u-haul-ed away, I was sleeping in a hotel room in my slippers and trackies (sweats) warm and comfortable, safe and sound with my little cat in my arms. I didn't realize then that they would be one of the only things in the world I would own the next morning other than my memories. But, there I was at that precise moment in time, wearing my slippers.




Here it is 2010, and I'm wearing the same shoes that fell in Redondo, that warmed me in Gardena, got painted in San Pedro, were cat-attacked, and kept me safe in Vegas. When I looked down at my shoes tonight only moments ago, I thought to myself "If only my shoes could talk"... They would tell much better stories than I could ever begin to imagine.

I'll cherish everything and everyone I have. I'll take the good with the bad, the blue paint drops and worn, frayed edges. In the end, it only shows that they've been well loved and had a good life, like the lines around the eyes of an aged woman, or the creases in the forehead of the Grandfather watching the grandchildren play in the park.

I learned last summer never to take anything for granted - it could all be gone tomorrow. I still have my cat, and I still have my slippers. I still have my love and my hope and my dreams. I'll never take ANY of them for granted.

No, not even my favorite shoes.