The other day I found an especially attractive new suit at Macy’s in downtown Miami. I was there on business and wanted to look my best for a presentation the next day. It was lightweight, fit like a glove, and was discounted 20%. Don’t tell the people at Macy’s this, but I would have bought it even without the discount, it was that attractive.
This purchase posed a slight problem, however. The black espadrilles I had brought with me were far too casual to be worn with such elegant attire. Although they scored high on looks and comfort, they weren’t compatible with the suit. Wanting to hit on all cylinders for my presentation, I headed for the shoe department.
It was being run that afternoon solely by one person, a woman named Merle, who operated with authority and efficiency, the shoe store version of an air traffic controller. Merle directed customers from her command post behind the counter, where they brought her samples of the shoes they wanted to try on. She rang up satisfied customers and then quickly disappeared in the bowels of Macy’s where she retrieved shoe boxes for three people at a time.
Merle clearly knows her inventory. All she had to do was look at the style you wanted to purchase and right away she could find it if Macy’s had it. She could also tell you immediately if they didn’t. Even more amazing was the fact that a dozen or so women were in various stages of trying on shoes, modeling them, paying for them, or waiting patiently and NO ONE got upset. But here's what makes Merle a champion: she knows the sizes of all the display shoes without looking. She's that good.
After three attempts I found a pair that fit my feet as well as my shopping criteria, a pair of black patent pointy-toed pumps. The points are so severe that if I’m ever trapped in a vehicle or building I may be able to hack my way out simply by using my shoes. The heels apparently double as a hammer.
Purchases in hand, I floated out of Macy’s with that satisfied feeling you get when you know things are working out in life, like when the pizza delivery guy shows up less than a half hour from the time you called and the pizza is still mouth-searingly hot. It was a good omen for the start of a busy week away from home.
Appearance-wise, the combination of the suit and shoes was magical. But I wasn’t quite experiencing that same floaty feeling from the day before because the shoes were starting to pinch in a few places, like my heels, toes, and tops of my feet. “They just need some time to be broken in,” I rationalized. Later in the week I wore the same outfit to a different meeting, one that required more walking. By the end of the morning I was limping and wincing like someone who had sustained a groin injury.
A few bandages later the circulation in my feet was once again restored and I felt like a new person. I made it through the rest of the day with a smile on my face and continuing goodwill for humanity.
As for the shoes, they will be temporarily retired. I'll probably wear them again once the calluses on my feet build up to the point where I no longer feel the pain. Because here in the suburbs we all know it’s better to look good than to feel good.
This purchase posed a slight problem, however. The black espadrilles I had brought with me were far too casual to be worn with such elegant attire. Although they scored high on looks and comfort, they weren’t compatible with the suit. Wanting to hit on all cylinders for my presentation, I headed for the shoe department.
It was being run that afternoon solely by one person, a woman named Merle, who operated with authority and efficiency, the shoe store version of an air traffic controller. Merle directed customers from her command post behind the counter, where they brought her samples of the shoes they wanted to try on. She rang up satisfied customers and then quickly disappeared in the bowels of Macy’s where she retrieved shoe boxes for three people at a time.
Merle clearly knows her inventory. All she had to do was look at the style you wanted to purchase and right away she could find it if Macy’s had it. She could also tell you immediately if they didn’t. Even more amazing was the fact that a dozen or so women were in various stages of trying on shoes, modeling them, paying for them, or waiting patiently and NO ONE got upset. But here's what makes Merle a champion: she knows the sizes of all the display shoes without looking. She's that good.
After three attempts I found a pair that fit my feet as well as my shopping criteria, a pair of black patent pointy-toed pumps. The points are so severe that if I’m ever trapped in a vehicle or building I may be able to hack my way out simply by using my shoes. The heels apparently double as a hammer.
Purchases in hand, I floated out of Macy’s with that satisfied feeling you get when you know things are working out in life, like when the pizza delivery guy shows up less than a half hour from the time you called and the pizza is still mouth-searingly hot. It was a good omen for the start of a busy week away from home.
Appearance-wise, the combination of the suit and shoes was magical. But I wasn’t quite experiencing that same floaty feeling from the day before because the shoes were starting to pinch in a few places, like my heels, toes, and tops of my feet. “They just need some time to be broken in,” I rationalized. Later in the week I wore the same outfit to a different meeting, one that required more walking. By the end of the morning I was limping and wincing like someone who had sustained a groin injury.
A few bandages later the circulation in my feet was once again restored and I felt like a new person. I made it through the rest of the day with a smile on my face and continuing goodwill for humanity.
As for the shoes, they will be temporarily retired. I'll probably wear them again once the calluses on my feet build up to the point where I no longer feel the pain. Because here in the suburbs we all know it’s better to look good than to feel good.
1 comment:
Anne, you're a wonderful writer :-)
Marc F.
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