The Island Shoe Girl's Blog

There are things in life that we rehearse despite the reality that we will probably never get to say them. Like the speech you said to the mirror yet have never said to your over-demanding, over-paid, under-educated boss. Or the words you will deliver with a cool tone that says ‘I am so over you’ to the most recent ex on your first run-in. Perhaps it is the special ‘I told you so’ that you so desperately want to deliver to your high school geometry teacher who insisted that you would use those skills everyday… ah yeah, whatever! Even the Grammy, Oscar, and Noble Peace Prize acceptance speeches prepared for that in-case-of-emergency moment.

Needless to say every woman—and I would venture to say every man—has a mental rolodex of clever response that you are ready to deliver on a whim, never mind the reality of these situations coming to fruition. Yet, these prepared statements roll through our minds as we brush our teeth, walk the dog, or jog on a treadmill… I can only guess what you do on treadmill. The majority of these witty words and well-thought -out comebacks will never be uttered by our lips outside of the imaginary conversations with Oprah held while in the shower.

Still it is fun to sit amongst friends and play the ‘what if I ever met… fill in celebrity name here.’ During these games we are cool and chic with delightfully witty puns and insights into their work. “Well, Sarah Jessica Parker, can I call you SJP? As I was saying, I feel that Carrie was actually a metaphor for the women’s rights movement.” Yes, my suave friends and I are ready to burst onto the socialite scene and be the belles of Page Six.

From personal experience, however, I can say that even the most prepared-for meeting can quickly turn my image of a stylish shoe girl striking a stunning pose into a bumbling fool in dirty work shoes. Being an island girl who spent twenty-four years trapped in land-locked Ohio, it was the music of Jimmy Buffett that gave me the desperate vacation in my mind. Many a snowy day was spent trudging across the frozen University of Toledo campus, and while physically I was cold, mentally and on my disc man I was sailing through the Caribbean.

I planned my escape to Key West through Jimmy Buffett’s music and Ernest Hemingway’s stories; once I landed my heels on the island I never looked back. Unfortunately the cost of living in Key West and my expensive shoe habit means that, in order to live the shoe life of luxury, I needed a second, part-time job. As fate would have it, the job that provided me the best coordination with my full-time job was at Jimmy Buffett’s own Margritaville Café as a hostess. Instantly all my friends and family assumed that I would meet Jimmy during the first interview and all were quite disappointed when more and more months passed without a meeting—or even the chance for me to steal his personal cell phone number.

To be honest, it was disappointing that he did not visit his homebase more often, but I also understood his avoidance. Many of the fans and guests actually wanted to hunt Jimmy Buffett down and very possibly imprison him in their hotel rooms. They all had fantasies involving how Jimmy would become their best friends and their children’s Godfather. Still, I wanted to be able say, “yes, I have met him and he is a great guy,” to the eager guests desperate to believe that Buffett washed dishes in the back when our Haitian kitchen crew called in sick.

After two and half years, it happened. I met Jimmy Buffett when he, on a whim, decided to perform a show for the staff of his Key West operations. Having the knowledge that the guy who inspired many mental vacation days and bikini parties during snowy weekends in Ohio was about to be hanging out at a place I worked at was a little nerve inducing. Still I got caught up in the work of helping my managers get the special invited guests and employees into the Café for the show. It was while running back to the handicapped bathroom that I turned around and came face-to-face with the guy who until now had only been a tiny speck onstage while I was lost in the sea of “lawn seating” at concerts.

I wish I could tell you I said something smart about a Key West bar we both had made our stomping ground or say that we had mutual friends to strengthen our bond. There were songs he had written that I had lived in drunken moments and words he had sung that had gotten me through breakups, personal loses and lonely nights. Yet I stammered, smiled like a goofball, and was barely able to look him in the eye. I actually asked permission to speak to him—like he was the Pope or something. Grace under pressure, no I was not. In my defense I was wearing my work-mandated shoes, polo and khaki skirt. Maybe if I were wearing my new Michael Kors studded heels I would have said something a little smarter…of course in fabulous stilettos like those, who needs words?

In the end, I can say to the hopeful guest looking for a Jimmy Buffett photo opportunity, “yes, I have met him and he is great guy,” and really mean it. My brief encounter left me smiling for days as I had truly lived a dream so many imagine while getting through another day at work. The happy tourists smile joyfully and swoon at the thought that my picture with their hero is taped to my refrigerator next to this week’s grocery list. They say how lucky I am and tell me what they would say if they ever meet Jimmy Buffett. It is well crafted and interesting. I just grin because I know from my own reality, well rehearsed and thoughtful lines just sail out the mental window.

But a lesson learned… I am totally writing down an Oscar acceptance speech—just in case. Hey, if a shoe girl from Ohio can end up meeting Jimmy Buffett in between checking bathrooms, that golden statuette may not be so far off.