Have you ever had one of those days where you are feeling real good about yourself and someone comes along and craps all over you? Well, today was that day for me. It all started when I woke up feeling fine. Not just fine, but great! I wore a new shirt and tie combo that had been in the closet for a while. I have to admit that I was feeling exceptionally professional. Even Edna, the ancient evil of our organization thought it was a great color on me.
Pretty much, I was convinced that I belonged in the pages of GQ magazine. That is, until I went out to lunch, joining some friends from the Urban 30. Somewhere between the entrance to the building and the curb of the first block was some make shift shoe shine set up that seemed to be manned by a different old fellow every other week.
As I walked by, thumbing the numbers on my phone to let Raz and Tam know I was just a few minutes away from the meeting spot I heard raspy squeal of a voice.
“It’s a shame your shoes aren’t as nice as your shirt!” The voice says.
“Excuse me?” I question as I look over to notice an unusually thin older man with a square patch for a mustache. He wore a trucker’s cap with the words I voted, on it.
“Let me make them shoes as new as that shirt…” He didn’t apologize for his insult.
Despite all of the mean things I thought to say, I just continued to walk forward. I met my friends and tried to pretend I had not been insulted. But I can’t lie, part of me wanted to fly the guy up in the air and drop him – catching him just before he hits the ground. Then I’d ask him if his “depends” was as new as my shoes.