I don't remember how long I've lived here. Long enough to get used to the fact that I'm probably not going to see any black or brown people here within a a one week period of time, short enough to be surprised when a shoe salesman greets me at the door with a glass of cold white wine. Which is what happened to me today.
I was coming out of Rite Aid (prescriptions for Magge, aspirin for me now that "they" say aspirin has definite anti-cancer benefits, packaging tape, eyelash curler, dry shampoo) and just happened to turn into the shoe store next door. Just three days ago, I told Alan I inteded to buy myself a pair of red heels to go with all my black clothes. Kind of add a little pizazz to my otherwise funeral-frump attire. So into the shoe store I go, and the salesman is right there, asking me, "White wine?" I look at him and think several thoughts at once - - Thought One: I'd just come from lunch, where I'd already had a glass of white wine, and Thought Two: I didn't have any patients today, so what would it hurt, but Thought Three: I was driving and what if I, The Worst Driver In The World, backed into somebody's innocent car in the Rite Aid parking lot, and Thought Four: what in the hell was he doing, offering me wine in a shoe store, anyway?
So I said No, thanks.
And then I saw The Heels. I mean, the red ones. So then I said, Okay, maybe just a little wine. And then HE said, (I'm not kidding, this really happened) "I'm here to support you. I'll just pour you a little." And he did.
And then he said, "God, I really love your boots. Where did you get them?"
"Magnolias," I said, "and I'd take them off, but I'm wearing two different socks and I don't want you to see." To which he said, "No, no, I WANT to see. I want to SUPPORT the fact that you are wearing two different pairs of socks. Because that's so CUTE. So let's see. Let's see your socks."
By this time two other customers were walking around in the shop and "my" salesman's assistant was trying to get THEM to try the white wine. I began to have the funny feeling that the "real" people were gone for the day and that "these" two were just pretending to work here. Anyway, I sat down, unzipped my boots, and showed the salesman - - and his blonde assistant - - my socks. One sock had an orange and black Halloween pattern and the other sock had a kind of Chinese-lettering pattern. "Wow," said the blonde assistant, "What do you DO? Are you an ARTIST?"
Why would she ask me that? I was wearing two totally different socks under my (very good) boots. Do artists go around wearing two totally different socks under their (very good) boots?
"I'm a psychologist," I said. My socks frowned and blushed.
"Oh, that's what I want to do!" the salesman exclaimed! "I want to get a degree and sit behind a desk and wear a white shirt ABOVE the desk and just wear any old thing I want to BENEATH the desk!"
Oh. Yeah. Like, that's what we ALL do. That's EXACTLY what we do. Which also explains the socks.
I guess.
By this time, one of the other customers is also drinking white wine. Well, I've stopped, by now, because I'm walking around in the red heels and I need to keep my wits about me. I'm likin' these heels. They're red and tall and I know Alan isn't going to like them at ALL. For one thing, they have no straps, and for another thing, they're patent leather. I feel badly about that for a little bit and then I remind myself that I'm paying for them and they're on my feet and they feel good, for heels, and they DO add color to my otherwise drabber-than-you wardrobe......so I'm gonna get 'em.
"Wrap 'em up," I say, and the salesman says, "I'm supporting you in this decision, you look GREAT in these heels, I'm telling you, you are WORKIN' these heels."
I'm starting to get uncomfortable now. I still want the heels, but I think we've turned a corner, here, although I don't know quite where or why. "Have you worked here a long time?" I ask the salesman.
The blonde assistant smiles at me. "He's the manager," she says. "This is MY first day."
So maybe when it's somebody's first day there, they break out the wine.
I don't know.
All I know is, I went into a shoe store on Bainbridge Island, drank a little wine, bought a pair of red heels and was highly supported by staff.
Bainbridge Island is the kind of place where, if it were a museum, it would have a sign that would say "Touch Is DISCOURAGED", not "Touch is FORBIDDEN". So my half hour at the shoe store was unusual, in that it was so - - radical. So Out There. So "Tom Jonse-y".
If you know what I mean.
