Month: July 2016

Tired of shoe problems

As we established a couple of weeks ago, my sandals are important to me. (In case you missed it, my sandals were stolen from the beach, in one of the most egregious violations of beach etiquette mankind has ever known.)

My son? Not as tied to his footwear as I am. In fact, given the option, he’d not wear shoes anywhere.

During the summer months, he usually goes with bare feet, but keeps his trusty pair of flip flops with him for when we have to go into some place that has one of those pesky no-shoes, no service policies.

Recently, he and I were at a favorite fishing spot of ours, a bridge and pier overlooking Charleston Harbor. He brought his flip flops with him, as there is a small stretch we have to walk on asphalt, which during July in the south gets a smidge warm.

As we arrived at home from our fishing trip, he was gathering his stuff from the floorboard of the car. “Dad, I’ve only got one flip flop,” he said. “I hope it didn’t fall out of the car.” We searched the car thoroughly, and it was not there.

It was about 8:30 at night at this point, and I told him not to worry about it. We’ll head back in the morning and get it. “Nobody’s going to steal one shoe,” I said.

So the next morning I got up and headed out to the pier. Parker was still asleep, so I figured I would surprise him when he woke up. I arrived at the spot and found his shoe, securely wedged under the tire of a car. I tugged. I pulled. I tried a few very terse words. Nothing.

But surely this person wouldn’t be there long, I thought. I’ll run a few errands and head back in a bit. But I’d better leave a note, just to make sure. I found some scrap paper in my car, and scribbled this note: “Dear Driver, My son and I were out here last night, and his flip flop fell out of the car. It’s under your tire. We’ll be back in a bit to retrieve it. Hope you’re having a great day!”

I thought the last part was a nice touch. It then occurred to me that someone might question why I might insinuate that they would take his lone shoe. So I scribbled a post script. “P.S. Not that you would take one shoe. But just didn’t want you to think the shoe was trash and needed to be thrown away. We’ll be back! Take care.”

Kill ‘em with kindness.

Fast forward an hour. I went to the house and roused my son. I told him the shoe was probably free by now, and we could go and retrieve it. We headed to the spot. The car was still there. My son said, “It’s fine. I can get new shoes.” No. This is now about principle.

I decided I would walk the pier and see if I could find the car owner.

It was, of course, the people at the very end of the pier, which is probably a half mile walk. “Hey, do you guys have a light blue Honda Civic?” I asked.

One of the the guys turned and said, “Yeah, why?” It was a look that told me I should have phrased my intro differently.

“Nothing’s wrong!” I assured him. I explained my son’s flip flop predicament. He just stared at me. “So, I guess if you guys could give me an ETA of when you’ll be heading out, I’ll come back then and get it.”

“We’ll be leaving in 30 minutes,” he said, and turned and cast his line in the water.

“Good luck on the fishing, fellas!” I said. I’m a people person.

We were heading out of town for the night, so I went back to the house and packed the car and loaded up the dogs. All told, about an hour had passed. We went back. Car still there.

It was after 1:00 at this point so I suggested my son and I would gas up the car and come back.

Still there.

And then some lunch.

Still there.

At this point, I’m incredibly pleasant. It’s 8 billion degrees, I just want the shoe, and my original departure time has passed by about two hours.

“Should we go and ask them when they’re leaving?” my son said.

“No, it’s 8 billion degrees,” I said. And I popped the trunk.

I retrieved my tire iron. No, I did not exact justice on his windshield. Rather, I dug out under the sandal as much as I could. I had my son grab the shoe while I rocked the car back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until boom! Free flip flop.

My son hopped in the car, and I grabbed my note to the driver off the windshield. “Dad, don’t you think they’ll wonder about the shoe not being there when they get to the car?” he said.

“I hope so. Because someone who says they’re leaving in 30 minutes who hasn’t left three hours later needs some mental anguish in their life.”

But the important thing is we got the shoe. And I need to remind myself never, ever, ever to let any pair of shoes out of my sight again.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Adventures Family

Thou shalt not steal (and that includes my sandals)

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date July 12, 2016
No Comments on Thou shalt not steal (and that includes my sandals)

I can say with 100 percent confidence that it was the first time I ever uttered this phrase to my wife: “I hope I have an undiagnosed foot fungus.”

No, I don’t have any nasty feet issues, and even if I did, I wouldn’t share them with you, because feet are gross.

I said it, rather, because I hope the filthy low-down swine who stole my sandals gets a fiery wrath on the soles of his feet as karmic payback for being a beach sandal bandit.

(Yes, I know I, too, would have said fiery wrath, but in my revenge scenario, it affects me much less.)

I live only a few minutes from the beach, and I go quite often. This day, my daughter and I took our dog to let him stretch his legs.

When we got to the end of the trail leading to the beach, we did what we normally do — we took off our shoes as we got on the sand, and pitched them to the side. And why do we do this? Because that’s what you do at the beach. It’s kinda understood that when you return your SHOES ARE STILL THERE.

After about 30 minutes, as we headed off the beach, we arrived at the spot where my shoes had been left. And they were not there. Because a horrible person stole them. And how do I know they’re horrible? Because remember the old saying: “Never criticize a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes.” Well, I’ve walked hundreds of miles in those shoes, so I feel plenty confident in criticizing the scourge of a human who violated one of the basic rules of beach etiquette.

We searched and searched. Nothing. I also found myself eyeing with suspicion everyone who walked by and staring at their shoes. I’m not sure what I would have done had I seen a pair like mine.

But, Mike, you may be asking, perhaps it was a case of mistaken shoe-dentity. No, it was not, because they were parked with my daughter’s cute little turquoise numbers. Also, there was not a similar looking pair of sandals anywhere in the vicinity. Had someone made a mistake, they would have left theirs.

And here’s the worst part: My sandals are one of the few products I actually splurge on. I’m a simple man with simple tastes. For the longest time, the sandals I wore were the El Cheapo models. I’d wear them, they’d break, I’d buy new cheap ones. And then a few years ago, I was given a pair of very nice Columbia sandals as a gift. I was hooked. It felt like wearing convertible tennis shoes. I didn’t realize that your feet didn’t have to hurt after wearing sandals. So I became a devotee. When my last pair finally died after several years of service, I got me a new pair. They were probably $50-$60, which may not sound like a whole lot, but that was about how much I had spent on my previous 20 pairs of cheap shoes, so it was a big leap for me to do it.

And these sandals were perfect. A good eight months out of the year, these are the shoes I slip on the minute I come in the door from work.

But, Mike, you may also be asking, what if it was someone who needed shoes? Well then he could have asked me for my shoes. “Brother, I have no shoes. Can you help me out?” I would have gladly given him my shoes and wished him well on his life’s journey. But you know who doesn’t spend time at a beach on an island? People in need of a shoe handout.

So I will go and buy a new pair, and I will never again leave my shoes at the entrance of the beach. It’s a shame that some people really do ruin things for everyone because they are awful. I hope the thief enjoys years of comfort given to him by my shoes. And agony from the fungus I hope I have.

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Breaking a habit

I am tremendous creature of habit. Once I find an item I like, I will use it as long as it is still functional, and long after if is far from fashionable.

Take, for example, my hairbrush. It is the only hairbrush I have ever owned. It is a fantastic brush. It’s rather, let’s just say worn. Back in college, one of my fraternity brothers saw me using it one morning as we were getting ready in the fraternity community bathroom. “Is that a dog brush?” he asked.

So it’s not pretty. But boy does it work. Best brush ever. My son is 13, so he really doesn’t have a need for a brush, as his hair just flops where it wants to, and he’s fine with that. Not the battle I’ll be picking. But my wife and daughter both have bunches of different brushes of different sizes, stashed throughout the house, cars, etc. Yet for some reason, I keep finding really long hairs on my brush. Hmm. You always come back to excellence.

I’m the same way with clothes and accessories, although admittedly I don’t have many accessories — my wedding ring, belt and a wallet.

My ring I’ve had for 18 years, and I certainly don’t plan on trading that in for a new one. My belt is starting to show some wear and tear, and I will soon approach my wife, hold up the belt and ask, “Is it time?” She will nod in a sympathetic manner and say, “Come on. I’ll take you belt shopping.”

And then there is my wallet. Worn and broken in, it slides in my pocket as if I just dipped it in melted butter (which is not recommended). The cards that rest inside it slide in and out with the greatest of ease. It is the perfect wallet, with years of seasoning from going in and out of my back pocket, and pressed and kneaded by years of sitting on it, pressing out all the newness and, with each sit, pressing a little more of that seasoning that makes it perfect.

I love my wallet.

So I was sorry to have to retire it unexpectedly. But sometimes, my love of habit can be topped.

My daughter recently returned from a trip to Italy with her high school chorus. It was an amazing 10-day trip of a lifetime. She’s 15, and a good and responsible kid, so we were, surprisingly to us, not worried about her. We knew she’d be OK on her first trip abroad.

We picked her up on a Friday night. She texted us when the bus from the the airport was a short way away: “Be there in 30 minutes. I’m hungry. But don’t want pizza or pasta.” Seems reasonable.

In short order, we had our gal back home, a complete family of four again. I told Allie that she could wait on unpacking and such, as she was as tired as a teen returning from Italy should be. She said she had gotten us a few things, and she did want to unpack those before she went to bed. She passed out her gifts to my wife and son. She said, “Dad, I saved yours for last, and it’s for Father’s Day, but can you go ahead and open it?” Father’s Day was a couple of days away, but I figured it would be fine.

I unwrapped the package and there it was — a hairbrush.

Ha! Kidding. Everyone knows the brush is untouchable. It was a wallet. A real, Italian leather wallet. Engraved with my initials.

I saw the look in her eyes. It was that, “Do you like it?” look. I love it.

I didn’t immediately switch to my new wallet. And not because I was stalling, but rather because, well, I had things to do. But one evening a few days later, my daughter noticed my wallet sitting on the table next to the new one. “Dad, want me to switch your stuff over?” Tough to say no to a doe-eyed kid who really wants to see her dad put his new gift into action.

So my new wallet is stiff and shiny. I have to wiggle the cards to get them out. But each day, it gets a little less stiff and the cards come out a little easier. I’m going to break this wallet in, and I’m going to break it in good. Because I want it to be the last wallet I ever have. Because it’s perfect.