I knew Detroit got bitterly cold in November, but I never knew it snowed so early in the year. But here I was in 18 degree weather trying desperately not to slip on the icy sidewalk as I ran into the hotel. Wearing flip-flops.
This was not my intent. Several hours earlier I had been walking through Milwaukee airport on my way to catch my flight to Detroit when I heard a voice say, “Boss, your shoes need some shine.” I looked over my shoulder and saw the Shoe Shine Guy. “Brother, those shoes are sad, ” he said, adding a melancholy, “Um, um, um” and shaking his head.
I sighed; yes, he was right, but it always mystifies me when complete strangers feel compelled to comment on one of my myriad flaws. “ I know,” I said brightly; “Thanks!” And I started to walk away.
He was having none of this. “Five minutes,” he said. “Eight dollars. Be like new.”
“I have to catch my flight,” I lied, and he shook his head.
“You have time,” he said, which was true; apparently he kept track of individual flights. “Business is bad,” he said sorrowfully. “My kids gotta eat.”
Now, on one hand, I felt sorry for him, as though I were personally responsible for his kids going to bed hungry. On the other hand, however, I absolutely recoiled at the idea of sitting on an elevated chair while this guy knelt at my feet shining my shoes.
I had seen other guys in airports getting their shoes shined: these men were middle aged with expensive suits and oversized watches and multiple chins. They looked right at home as they read the newspaper while someone knelt at their feet shining their shoes, but I’ve never seen myself as the Boss Tweed type.
But on the other hand, what if my middle-class, liberal discomfort at acknowledging the class difference between me and the Shoe Shine Guy was depriving him of much-needed income: Wasn’t that was even worse than seeing myself as Boss Tweed?
I hesitated, then inspiration struck. “I need to grab something to eat before my flight,” I said, lying again. “Can I leave the shoes and come back?”
Shoe Shine Guy was delighted. “Sure, Boss,” he said. “Give me 10 minutes. They’ll be ready.”
Feeling as wise as Solomon, I knelt down, took off my shoes, which really were disgraceful, and pulled a pair of flip flops out of my suitcase. I only travel with one pair of shoes but I always have flip flops with me because I don’t like walking barefoot in hotel rooms — trust me; you don’t want to know why.
“I’ll be back,” I said, handing Shoe Shine Guy my shoes
N spite of what I had said to Shoe Shine Guy, I had a bit of time until my flight boarded, so I grabbed a sandwich to eat in flight and then stopped by the bookstore to get something to read. Unfortunately, as often happens in bookstores, I lost track of time and before I knew it I it was time to board my flight.
I hurriedly paid for my book, grabbed my suitcase and ran for the gate. I stowed my luggage in the overhead bin, but as I settled into my seat I had the oddest sensation that I was forgetting something. Then, as we were taxiing down the runway it occurred to me that my feet were very cold, and, too late, I remembered my shoes.
Now I was truly horrified, not only because I was now going to walk into my morning meeting wearing business clothes and flip flops but because, in my desire to avoid exploiting the Shoe Shine Guy I had just stiffed him.
Shamed, I was thinking of this as I ran across the ice into the hotel. That’s when I lost my balance on a patch of ice. A moment later a coworker came out of the hotel. He looked down at where I was sprawled in the parking lot
“Why are you wearing flip flops in the snow?” he asked.