Friday, March 9, 2007

Costco madness and shopping for shoes from Good Will

I just got back from Costco, and I was in a pissy mood because a) Costco makes me bat-shit crazy with the slow people who park their carts right at the beginning of the aisle so they can sample the tasty morsels or hold bookclub discussions over "The Secret" in the book section. Here's a "secret" for ya - get your head out of your ass and move your cart because you're blocking this aisle, b) we were parked right next to a car that had bumper stickers that said "Marriage = One Man and One Woman" as well as "Protect Teen Girls" (clearly SOMEONE isn't getting any and doesn't want anyone else to have any fun either), and c) I'm a perimenopausal woman with pms. Not that you could tell or anything. So I thought to combat all this negativity I was feeling I could write about a really wonderful, nice thing that happened the other day when Joe-Henry and I were shoe shopping.

I've mentioned before that Joe-Henry was born with a pretty rare syndrome called Klippel-Trenaunay. We are fall-on-our-knees grateful that his particular involvement is so far, very minor. But one of the slightly annoying things about it (and believe me, I'll take annoying over painful and life-threatening anyday) is that it's really hard to find shoes that fit. But aside from a few thoughtless shoe salespeople, most everyone who has helped us has gone out of their way to find something to fit Joe-Henry's sweet, meaty feet. There was Jack at Harry Harris Shoes for kids in LA. Jack reminded me of the character William H. Macy played in Door to Door. Jack had kind of a lateral lisp, bad eyesight, and the sunniest disposition on the planet. He would always, always find shoes that Joe-Henry was proud to wear, and would even call us when they got a new shipment. Plus they gave out balloons that lasted longer than the shoes. Jack almost cried when I told him we were moving to another state. He and Joe-Henry were buddies, and I think that finding the right fit for Joe-Henry might have been right up there with the best part of his job. There was the lovely woman at Nordstroms, who gave us a call when they got in a shipment of extra wides. And now there is my new sweetie Will at the Pioneer Place New Balance store. Will is young enough to be my son, I don't even know if he needs to shave yet, but he is just about the oldest soul around. He's helped us twice now, and he always finds something that fits well, and more importantly than that, he always makes Joe-Henry feel great.

Kindness. Goodness. Writing about it almost makes me feel more forgiving for the slow-boaters at Costco. But not the bumper-sticker people. They're had still better stay out of my way.


Tracey R. said...

Holy crap, I totally burst out laughing at the Costco Secret. And then the bumper sticker. I see that bumper sticker all the time here in Austin, and can never resist pulling up alongside the car and staring quizzically in at the driver, wondering just what freak of nature would put something like that on their car. And every single time I'm disappointed when it looks like a normal person.

I think people like that should come with signs. Like bumper stickers on their cars that identify them as close minded bigots. Oh wait...

anniemcq said...

I never thought about it that way. If they tell us who they are, we can avoid them. Thanks, as always, for the fresh insight!