I’d like to thank the fine workers of Indonesia for yet another product that has taken me a long way, literally. Manufactured February 4, 2005, I present to you my sh!tty shoes:
Yes, that slab of leather and rubber appearing atop our kitchen island
Early 2005 would have put them on the trailing end of a Junior year at Iowa State, so the start of their left-right-left routine was spent pushing pedals and resting on the seatbacks of absent classmates. Within several months they were removed from special-pair-only status to become the nice run-arounds, making accidental appearances at the car dealership and apartment move days. Scuffs and stains only served to make them worn more. They survived long enough to enjoy some casual days during an internship in 2005 and full-time job in 2006. 6 years later and countless miles heel-toeing gas and brake pedals, they have finally kicked the bucket.
Figuratively speaking, as there’s not enough padding on the front to kick anything without some pain.
Based on a survey that I made up right now, 86% percent of you reading this blog have a pair of junk shoes. You know which ones they are. These are the sneakers you don’t tie because you perma-knotted them 6 months ago and stretched out the shoe-mouth to shove in your meaty hoof without bending over. These are the shoes you grab when you need to do anything that’ll drip, stain, scar or burn. Need to run the garbage down to the curb? Sh!tty shoes. Gotta mow the lawn? Sh!tty shoes. Dog poop cleanup? Sh!tty shoes. Working the graveyard shift at the factory? Steel toed boots (come on people, safety first!).
But we all know that it’s not just that the shoes can take the abuse, else we’d grab a black pair of rubber boots for all these tasks. No, we wear the sh!tty shoes because they are second-to-none on the comfort scale. They have become a second skin, so perfectly molded to your feet that nobody else can really understand the relationship you’ve garnered with your sock’s sock. That’s why they’re just too good to get rid of, right? I mean, sure you may have paid $50 for them a few years ago, but they’re still in one piece. Plus, who wants to mess up that new pair you just stole-bought from that wicked Kohls sale (AM I RIGHT LADIES!?).
But alas, their time has come. Their finer qualities are quickly minimized when small puddles are immediately absorbed from the hole in the toes and the sole-flap catches rungs sending you Clark Griswold-ing down ladders. They certainly still have their character, and their memories. So farewall, sh!tty shoes. Thanks for the miles and memories.
