Sandy stood behind Dell’s checkout counter, idly rubbing a forefinger back and forth over the bills in the open register drawer. Her eye firmly set on the recently hired junior shoe salesman serving a customer; a boyish young man, with an unhappily tight line of a mouth, and an overall tense look. In the chair next to him towered an impressive-looking woman in unnaturally neat clothing, whom Sandy took to be his mother.
As the salesman took the young man’s measurements, she spoke to her son loudly enough for Sandy to hear. There, see—I told you that you had your shoe size all wrong, I mean—look, there. Look at that. You were off by a whole size! Too small! Imagine if you’d come down here alone and told this nice salesman, There’s no need to measure. I need spiked track shoes in a size nine—that would have been wrong in some measure, but then—what if you then said you did not need to try them on at all. Said you knew they’d fit, you’d bought that brand and size before, so measuring and trying, in this case, would just be a waste of the shoe salesman’s time, so—and so forth, and so on, is what you’d have said, if alone, and unguided.
But I pushed you, and now, well, here you go; you’d have been a whole size off. How does that hit you, son? I bet you feel silly now—then, she said to the salesman, Look at him. Just look. Doesn’t he look surprised, confused, and afraid? What do you think sir, of this whole thing?The salesman said, I really don’t know, except that Dell’s has a policy that shoe sizes are to be checked each and every time, even for regulars. Because; the feet change imperceptibly over time—even from one moment to the next.
But, here, he said, rising and picking up the track shoe they’d taken off the rack—I know we’ve got these in your size in the back. Just one minute.The young man turned watching the salesman walk off.
At the register, Sandy gently slid the cash drawer shut, watching the mother and son sit fixed and erect, as though the silence around and between them was a rock-hard mold, within which they must stay fixed for some scientific reason—possibly to be observed—which was a fact, because Sandy—but no, yes; wait, clatter, rush; the salesman came out from the storeroom carrying three boxes.
Before the two even had time to turn and look, he was seated before them on the bench. The mother leaned in, about to say something, but the salesman spoke first, somewhat strongly; in a firm, yet pleasant tone and cadence, designed carefully to allow no interruption. Fine. Yes, here it is. Your size—this is a fine choice, young man. You have excellent taste. Let’s try these on, now. Here. Your foot.
As the salesman began fitting the shoes to the young man’s feet, the mother said, Oh, no, no. It’s not about taste. The team coach told us what color and style to buy. I mean, really, I can just imagine what kind of shoes he’d be trying on now, without the coach’s guidance and my supervision here in the store.
He’d pick some outlandish style, I know—and, they would also be the wrong size—like we said before—might not even be track shoes, if I know him—and we’d end up coming right back here to return them, and, well—then his Father—his Father—The salesman deftly tied the left shoe snugly to the son’s foot, then shifted on the bench to repeat the process with the right.—yes, his Father would lay into him, yelling and shaking his fist, and not just at him, but at me also—you, he’d yell—just an inch from my face—you need to be teaching the boy better. Why did you let him go to the store alone?
You know how he is—and though a lot of his behavior is totally his own fault, you’ve made it worse. Too easy, too easy. Yes, son, you know that’s the kind of thing you’ve caused to happen over and over. Lord, I swear.The young man hadn’t moved a muscle since the salesman brought out the shoes.
The salesman slipped the new shoes onto his feet while he simply nodded his head signaling politely to his mother, I am listening, I am hearing, but; my, these shoes look good. Lace them, here make the knot, do the job, tighten them up tighten them up as she picked up steam with, Your father’s always nasty anymore now, because of you! Yes! I have to suffer through his crap because of you!
But, that’s all right, she said, leaning back, her tone softened. It is my job to raise you, no matter what, for better, or for worse—having a child’s like a roulette spin. It’s a crap shoot, and once the child’s on the way, you’re all the way in. for better, or for worse.
At the counter Sandy grew more and more impressed with this new substitute salesman, as he never flinched as the woman’s bizarrely offensive monologue twisted ‘round ‘bout him, as he secured the shoes to the young man’s feet, and then—he rose, stepped aside, tapped a foot and beckoned the boy to rise, which he did; the boy rose and stood silently, with a faraway gaze leveled at some point higher, and further, past the walls, and away.
Do they feel good? said the salesman—they look good, and, it seemed to me, as I was fitting them to you, they fit really good too. What do you think? Sandy watched. The young man gazed wordlessly. Once more his mother leapt in with, Well? You’re going to be rude today? The nice salesman asked you a question. Why do you not answer the question? What, you’re in one of those sulky moods of yours now? Because I came with you after you said not to?
After the nice man measured you after you said he didn’t have to? Because the coach said exactly what shoes to get, when you wanted something different? Because I told you to come out of your head, and get out and join the track team and then of course, mister contrary, as you always are, you said, No, I’ll do baseball—not track, it’s baseball it must be, and then again, your father—again your father came in and again, God, the scene—all because you would not obey me. You need to learn.
Life is easy when you obey. Life is better for those who obey. So—the nice man just asked you what you think of the shoes. You’re going to give the nice man a bad day, too? Like you give me every day? And your father? And yourself? Which of course, you will never admit—the bad days you have that you always whine about, well—you give them to yourself.
Answer the salesman! Answer! Answer now! Sandy’s eye remained set on the salesman, waiting, smiling, relaxed and professional, like the two he was serving were acting a show before him for his entertainment—answer, mother insisted—answer! Answer!
Answer now—The taut air split down in a near-audible rip, and the young man abruptly, but gracefully and in full control, walked across past his mother, and marched steadily, stiffly, to the door and left the store, never looking back. The woman had watched him go, seeming completely unfazed, then remained watching the door through which her son had disappeared.
Sandy tensed—what to do? What would she do? And now—what will he do?The mother slowly turned, once more facing the rudimentary substitute salesman.They’re good, sir. We’ll take them.Fine. They look like a fine choice. Good fit, too. Please step over to the register.
He ushered her to the register, and crisply told Sandy, Be a dear, Sandy, and step aside. I need to ring this up for the lady. You will not regret this purchase, ma’am. Those track and field specials are among the finest Dell’s has to offer—cash or credit? Uh.
Credit.Fantastic!Transaction concluded, the woman left the store. As she cleared the door, the salesman said to Sandy, Another sale down. My, but it is a slow day, isn’t it? Hey—how about I go back and get us two coffees? It’s so darned slow—I’m asleep on my feet. Cream and sugar for you, right? Like always? Yes. Like always. Stunned.
