The Emotional Opposite of a Loafer

No one likes to read about someone else’s workplace adventures. Although humanity suffers from the delusion that their workplace drama is enthralling, we also suffer from the equal and opposite prejudice against the copy-machine woes of others. But as previously mentioned in many a blog post, I have conquered this small (read: free) chunk of internet for discussing things that will interest no one. And so I, the most deluded of the delusional masses, will talk about something Awesome that happened to me at work yesterday.

First and foremost, I will dispel any concerns that I might have my days mixed up by assuring you that I did have to work on whatever federal holiday occurred yesterday; if the people won’t stop shopping to honor presidents then I must be there to bring them shoes and explain the sales. And it was busy yesterday, which is another point for my theory that nothing makes a person want to invest in sturdy leather footwear like our founding fathers. The phrase “founding fathers,” in addition to showcasing my inaccurate understanding of President’s Day is an excellent segue into my story.

I was standing around yesterday afternoon in the men’s footwear section trying to look approachable when a middle aged man and his young son motioned to me from the penny loafer row. I trotted over and explained the sale – a three-for-the-price-of-one jobbie that I wouldn’t mention here unless it was integral to the story, for fear of being branded a good employee. The man, a well dressed sort with a thick Spanish accent, pointed out two burgundy loafers, asked for size 10 ½, and stood nearby talking about his abhorrence for rubber-soled shoes while I searched for them.

Usually this sort of imperious behavior really annoys and embarrasses me (I have the sort of disposition that crumbles under the weight of one “shoo” motion), but I was irrationally fond of this snooty man for the sake of his son, who was wearing an oversized t-shirt and sporting a fruit-punch mouth. I found the sizes that I wanted and set them down before asking what third style he would like. The man didn’t answer straight away but grabbed a plain black loafer (a starter loafer?) from the display, turned to his son and asked him if he would like to get a pair of leather shoes. The son, who was sporting a pair of age-appropriate converse sneakers, nearly pissed his pants with joy.

I spent the next ten minutes helping the duo select and size a pair of loafers for the young man. His first impulse was to try on a pair of laced black leather shoes, the kind that I can only imagine that he imagined James Bond (Jason Bourne?) to wear. His father, however, gently reminded him that he wasn’t very good at keeping his laces tied and when the boy got embarrassed, he assured him that loafers were a superior choice. The boy finally settled on the black starter loafer in a 7 ½.

I carried the whole pile of shoes to the register and tallied the total. While the credit card was processing, the father mused to his son about how the boy had gone up another shoe size and how expensive it was going to be now that he was old enough to start wearing leather shoes when at church or helping out at work. The boy, rather than being cowed by the reference to his expense stood with his fruit-punch mouth beaming and offered to carry the bags to the car.

I am in a constant struggle against my evil, cynical mild to keep my interpretation of this exchange pleasant. I try not to consider how obnoxious this overbearing father with his leather-soled shoes and old-world manners will seem to this boy when he is a teenager. My mind, sick with pessimism and a lifetime of Lifetime Original Movies, flashes forward to the inevitable scene where the boy turns to his father and tells him that he wants to live his own life and that he doesn’t even like loafers; he is a man who likes slippers or duck boots or whatever the emotional opposite of loafers might be.

I am trying to keep it in my mind as merely what it was: a father who bought his excited son a pair of black loafers and assured him that even people who can’t remember to tie their shoes properly can be adults.