Defiant Shoes And Parting Words

Defiant Shoes And Parting Words
by Heather Roscoe

The somewhat recent trend of political correctness spreads it's absurdity everywhere. From time to time I find politically correct words sneaking into my vocabulary, sometimes I even shudder upon hearing people say things that are no longer considered...kosher.

I became a victim of politically in-correct sandals a few months back. The incident didn't damage me, but you see, victim is a politically correct way to refer to yourself these days.

It all started when circumstances beyond my control forced me to move away from my island home of Oahu. My time in paradise had come to an end.

I was booked to leave on an afternoon flight, which I tried as hard as possible to be late for, but all of my antics were maddeningly unsuccessful.

Earlier that day, I had packed all of my things, except a set of stretched running shoes, covered in red Hawaiian dust, a pair of boxer shorts with Chinese symbols on them (who knows exactly what the little characters meant) and a tank top. I couldn't tactfully wear the shoes with black capris and my new sweater, it was an absolute faux pas. I strapped on the runners, jogged to the Waikiki strip and dashed into a nearby shop.

A pair of irrational looking sandals were sitting on the shelf with a little red tag on them cheerfully proclaiming 20% off! Snatching them up, I purchased them, ran back to my apartment, changed and marched out the door to my waiting flight at the Honolulu airport.

Honolulu traffic really outdid itself that afternoon, however it failed to make me late for my flight, which was unfortunate. When I finally arrived at the airport, dragging three boxes of dishes, books and clothes, the ticket lady smiled, and said "you've got three minutes sweetie, you'd better run for it."

As I was trotting through the airport, with my laptop slapping my thigh it occurred to me that I may have made an unwise purchase. The sandals permitted only limited travel speed. What was more, they had no traction an made an incredibly loud noise as they whacked against the shiny tiles of the airport. Finally I just took them off and sprinted barefoot to the gate.

After I was safely on my plane I took some time to examine my purchase. The shoes were definitely not designed for cross training. The soles were made out of honey colored wood and the strap was cut from some sort of coarse, short black fur. Thus, the shoes were politically incorrect.

For a moment I was overjoyed upon finding such offensive footwear, and was positively giddy at the thought of wearing them on the streets on my very politically correct home city, Seattle. The guilt came later.

Not only was a animal killed for these shoes but a tree as well. This disturbed me. If I had known exactly how much death was involved in making the blasted things I never would have bought them. Not only that but my toes would get dirty when I walked in them.

However, I digress. The shoes became my small (albeit unwitting at first) rebellion against a legalistic world. Whenever I was confronted about them and asked if I was out of my mind when I bought them my typical response was a passive wave of the hand and "It's all for the sake of fashion, dahling".

Does any one care? No, but it's ten after eleven on deadline day, I just moved to a different country, I'm tired and I don't want to write about anything else. I could probably fill this page up with rhetorical questions, or perhaps spend eight hundred words describing how I become insane when I step over the threshold of second rate hospitals.

The day is moving to an end.

All good things (and even slightly unpleasant things) must come to an end. The shoes broke after my second attempt at pushing them past their limits--this time I was falling down the stairs at a friend's house. The little wooden soles split and they had to be retired.

And so must I. This is my last article for The American Partisan.

I must let you, the reader, know that I have enjoyed writing for the Partisan. I truly love hearing from you and have appreciated your comments, complaints and compliments.

Jeremy, Adam and Tim, my valiant editors, deserve notice for being so patient and not decapitating me when I sent my work in at two in the morning on Mondays, instead of the specified not-later-than-midnight-Sunday.

Last week I took the shoes in to a branch store in Seattle and had them replaced. Who knows? Perhaps even someday, I'll write for the American Partisan again.

I wish you all the best,

-Heather