100.Chemo Well Heeled

My first serious job in Belgium in the 70s was working in a bank.  It was a prestigious, well established place, located in the heart of the city, with a huge marble-floored lobby, lots of oak paneling on the walls and shiny brass accents everywhere.   It was the place where the well heeled of the city did their transactions and entrusted their money.  I was hired as a data entry clerk, sitting in a cubicle behind the scenes. The wage was more than good and I was eager to spend some of my cash! 

It so happened that on my way to and from work I had to walk by a small boutique selling fashion and footwear imported from Britain, very in vogue at the time!  One evening I spotted them in the window: a pair of knee-height black velvet boots with 2 inch stiletto heels! I was smitten!  I had to have them!  I was going to show the fuddy-duddy co-workers in the bank what real fashion was all about!  So I bought them, tucked the box under my arm and headed for home.  My parents, who had survived the depression and lean war years were not impressed.  "You spent your money on THIS?"  But their reaction did not deter me from wearing my purchase to work the next morning.

Now I ask you: at what point in your life does a person develop a brain?  If I had one at the time I made little use of it.  Instead of taking the box to work and wearing the boots there, I traveled to and from work wearing them.  I should mention that we lived in the suburbs, that I had a 15 minute walk to the bus stop, then a bus ride and another 10-15 minute walk in the city on cobbled streets before reaching the bank.  Walking in 2 inch stiletto heeled boots is an art form I never possessed, not then and even less now.  So I missed my regular bus, because try as I may, I could not get there in time.  Once in the city, the cobblestoned pavement presented another challenge.  I managed to swerve from lamp post to lamp post to keep more or less in an upright position, much like a drunken sailor after several wild nights.  Arriving at the bank I would straighten up and glide somewhat gracefully through the lobby to my cubicle, to the amusement of the tellers situated behind the counters.  Lucky for me the manager's door was closed.

The second day went much as the first, except that this time, when the tellers saw me making "my entrance", two jolly older males cupped their hands around their mouths and proclaimed to the others: "Here comes the leaning tower of Pisa!"  Also the manager's door was slightly ajar this time.

When I entered the bank on the third day,  I was late again of course.  This time the manager stood in the doorway of his office, cigar in mouth, hands on hips.  He did not say anything, only squinted at me.  It was then that I got this sinking feeling, that perhaps wearing these boots might not be such a good idea; that I could get fired over this!  But the straw that really broke the camel's back was when, at the end of the day, standing at the bus stop waiting for my ride home, I was approached, proposed to and offered some money by two "gentlemen".

The boots survived the move to Canada, where in an attempt to recover some of my "investment" I wore them to a couple of Halloween parties.  Then they ended up in a musty basement somewhere, where they quickly deteriorated.  

And if I remember correctly, my next purchase were a pair of Birkenstocks: Sensible Shoes! 

  

I'll be back at the end of next week.  Come sailing with me then!  Take care! SanTeh!