This week could best be described as hectic. It should be noted that this blog is actually being written on Saturday morning, and I generally have my blog written, proofed and ready to post by this time. At times the past week felt like an all out free-for-all. Let’s just say that some of the highlights included helping the Wild Life Rescue capture a wounded falcon outside my office and trying to find a basket large enough to hold 65 biodegradable balloons. FYI… there isn’t one, and—you can’t release that many balloons at one time without some clearance from the airport. If my grad school professor had told me there would be weeks like this, I probably would have reconsidered a good portion of my career choices.
A lesser shoe woman might have cracked on Wednesday and put on a pair of flats. But even a fall on the stairs on Thursday (really hoping my wrist is just sprained) could not sway me from my stilettos. I would be lying if I said that my arches weren’t aching by 5:30 on Friday as I walked through the grocery store searching for dinner. Of course my mind was probably far more worn out; it’s a great victory that I ended up with the correct ingredients at the checkout.
As I swiped my groceries at the self-check aisle, a sales associate from the grocery stores came over to me. She was younger, probably only 19 or 20 and was unfortunately relegated to standard pair of ill-fitting black pants, a white store button-up shirt and some very unfortunate—and I am guessing—required black shoes with the tell-tale rubber soles straight from the dress code section of an employee handbook. (Note: I have never suffered a grocery store injury due to my shoes.)
“I love those shoes,” the girl said timidly at first. It took me a minute to even register that she was speaking to me, as I was lost in finding a bar code on a much-needed bottle of Aleve. I smiled and said thank you. It’s not uncommon for me to get compliments on my shoes as they are usually pretty different than the flip-flops and sandals you see on an island. However, this young lady was not done. She stood next to my checkout and asked, “Where did you get those?” I explained I had found them online and gave her the shoe designer even though I got them about 3 years ago and was certain they were long sold out.
My eager sales associate persisted though, “How do you know what size to get?” At this point I figured I could blow her off and hurry home to a bottle of red wine anxiously awaiting me there. Or I could impart some shoe knowledge to this girl. I decided to take one for the stilettos and began teaching this future shoe girl how to determine her correct shoe size in a variety of designers. At the end of our conversation I was giving her the name of a few stores where she could find good deals on a variety of shoes and have the opportunity to try on many sizes. I explained how one good day of shoe shopping on the mainland could help her find correct sizing online.
As another customer frantically pushed the help button on her own self-check register, we said our goodbyes. I glanced back as I walked away and saw her begrudgingly assisting the other flat-footed woman with her cans of cat food. If I were her store manager I probably wouldn’t be too impressed with this young lady’s customer service. But as a future shoe girl, I saw great potential.
In our busy lives it’s easy to overlook the moments where we can help someone, perhaps shape the path they take in life…or at least the shape of their footsteps. Perhaps that girl’s week was worse than mine—I mean having to wear her shoes would be pretty brutal. So maybe my giving her a little bit of shoe advice will help her walk a little bit taller or put a little spring her step. After all, having the chance to offer my opinion to her certainly made my stride a little lighter.









