Makeover

I got my shoes polished the other day. "Shined" isn't demonstrative enough to describe how beautifully they were cared for, or how much I enjoyed the experience. My shoes themselves, about two years old, have never been shined before, and were looking much the worse for two years of wear. A sturdy, Swedish design, the black leather was worn through at the toes to a dull grey. They looked pitiful, I confess.

I had cash in my pocket, a lunch hour to squander, and the knowledge that in the bowels of this very office building there is a shoeshine setup, a little room, glass-lined on two walls, tv set mounted high in the corner. The two guys shining shoes were a study in contrasts, one an expansive, expanded chatter, the other a quieter, more focused gentleman. They were of that cheerfully intelligent class of people to which builders and house painters belong. I did want to offer them a cup of tea with three sugars, but since they were African-Americans, a Coke might have been more appropriate. Same gesture, different cultures. As I left, they gazed, spell-bound, at the television screen on which an attractive African-American female newscaster was shuffling papers.

"Man, she looks good."

"She's had a makeover, ain't she?"

"Whatever she did, she's looking mighty fine."

But all this distracts me from my point: it was fabulous. A day at the spa, practically. It felt like a massage to the feet, happily once removed due to the leather. (I've ticklish feet. Please do not use this knowledge for evil.) I was sitting high up and my knees blocked my view, so I could concentrate on the easy pressure of polish being applied, brushes shuffling back and forth, soft cloths buffing. It felt fantastic - that tingling feeling in the scalp was rustling around my head. I might have started drooling.

Best of all, when the gentleman (the studious one) was finished, and I moved my knees out of the way, my shoes gleamed like bowling balls. My shoes looked shiner than new, completely liquid black. My shoes were luminous.

As I headed back to work, completely contented, I began mentally counting pairs of shoes...tomorrow I could wear a different pair and get those shined. . . yeah. . . oh, yeah. . .