The Cobbler: Part 1 - Buttercup Forays into Flirting

About the time I took my blog hiatus (December of last year), I was hired as a baker at—where else—a bakery. All in the quest to open up a coffee shop that never materialized. To work in a kitchen, you must wear slip-resistant shoes or you will slip and you will tear/pull something that should never be torn/pulled.

When I was looking for slip resistant shoes, I went all over the freaking city, and I ended up at the mall where there was a uniform store, and uniform stores usually have slip-resistant shoes. After bebopping around the mall at all the department stores and that uniform store and Famous Footwear and others, I ended up at the last shoe store I hadn’t tried. Sadly, there were no slip-resistant shoes, but there was a very attractive sales associate. Super tall, beard, black-framed glasses, heroine-addict skinny. Rawr. And he was funny. We just talked about shoes and that I was a baker, etc. Nothing personal. But we were laughing and whatever. It was fun. So I left not looking at his name or his ring finger or anything because I had no intention whatsoever of ever returning. I'm not that kind of girl. 

However, a couple of things happened in quick succession afterward. I listened to an NPR story where a woman was talking about how she woke up at 34 and basically realized that she had forgotten to get married. And it was 36 before she met her husband, and 39 before she had her first kid. And it hit me that I'm pretty passive about my love life or, you know, just getting out there in general. I could totally wake up at 40 and realize I'd forgotten to get married—but man did I have a great career, or a wall full of degrees or whatever. The next day after the NPR story about freezing your eggs just in case you don’t have kids until your forties, I went to a movie with a friend and jokingly suggested we walk by and I'd point out my "mall crush." Just being silly. Her response: "You could totally tap that." Which was, uhm, unexpected. And I put the kabosh on that real fast—so I thought. But then after the movie we met up with our other friend, and other friend explained that this is how people meet people and I just had to ask for his number. Super simple, right?

So after sleeping on it and working myself up, the next day, which happened to be my day off, I drove to the mall and sat in my car and silently freaked out. I called Sprinkle for advice, which, you know, wasn't advice so much as just made me laugh and feel like it was more of a story/adventure than something real and possibly horribly humiliating. She convinces me to just do a walk by, see if he's even there. So I get out of the car and do a walk by—butterflies in my stomach the entire trek from car to mall entrance to store entrance—and I work up my nerve to look over to my right into the store just as he's walking out of the store, makes eye contact with me, and smiles. I lower my head and just keep right on a walking. It was not in the plan that he come out of the store (what?!) and see me and recognize me. 

Luckily, there was an Orange Julius and a convenience store type situation just around the corner. So I had an excuse for continuing to walk. After texting Sprinkle my moment of insanity, and her texting me more instructions [aside: she has no basis for expertise in this area. Not only has she been with the same guy since she was 18, but she also tried to set me up with a guy who a month later had a sex-change operation. Yet I continue to look to her for advice], I took a deep breath and walked back into the store. I had an excuse ready. I needed insoles. I really did. I don't have to spend money to get guys to flirt with me—or I don't think I do. 

"Hey." Weak wave, embarrassed smile.

"Oh hey! It's the baker. How you been?" said the Cobbler [nickname of hot sales associate, used here on out]. 

"Oh fine, fine. I couldn't remember if you had insoles." I still hadn't looked at him.

"Well of course!" He motions to a section of the wall in the very back corner that was all two feet wide, floor to ceiling. 

"Oh yeah. How did I miss your vast selection last time?"

He laughed. "I mean, we have at least...what? Three different types. What more could you need?" He walked to the wall and looked for the insole of choice. "What size were you again? Thirteen and a half?"

"Yep, yep. But let's try an eight and a half just for laughs."

He grabs the insoles and motions to the chair. "Okay. Now, I'm going to show you some magic because I'm all about the magic." 

I sit and try to get off my purse, which of course tangles on my scarf, so while I’m unwinding myself, I feel some hands on my ankles. The Cobbler is taking off my shoes for me, which feels weirdly intimate, and I might have been in mid-sentence and just stopped talking. Or whimpered. That part is a little fuzzy. 

"Okay," he says, grinning widely, "now stand on the insoles and stretch out your arms."

I do so.

"Now, I"m going to press down on your hands, and you're not going to go anywhere. The insoles are going to stabilize you." 

As he pressed down on my hands, I checked out those long digits for a wedding ring. There wasn't one. So, check that off the list. Now to get his name. I looked at his name tag, and then up into his eyes, and all I remembered was that there was a B somewhere. His first name maybe. Brian? Buck? Bob? Ben? Brent? Belvedere? 

During this time, he was listing off the reasons I wasn't falling and what my feet were feeling, which, apparently, was total awesomeness. I had my doubts—remember, I don't buy something just because I want a guy to like me. 

"Okay. I'm going to step on the ground, and you do your thing, and we'll see if I fall over or whatever."

He smiled. "I was just about to suggest that."

So we go through the ordeal again. I mean, we were practically holding hands. Ordeal might have been the wrong word. 

"Did you not find any shoes? That's why you need insoles."

"No, I bought some Keens. But they are killing my feet, so I thought I'd buy some insoles to switch out until they're all broken in."

"Oh man, Keens are going to break in real well. They're going to be like...like leather stockings on your feet." 

"Uhm, does that feel good? Are leather stockings really comfortable?"

"Leather stockings are the height of comfort. They're like moccasins. That's what I was thinking of. Moccasins. If I could make moccasins, I would be a rich, rich man. They're the most comfortable thing in the world."

"You know, they sell moccasin kits at places like Hobby Lobby."

"WHY am I not at home right now making moccasins? There was this customer one time who made his own moccasins. They were knee high and laced up starting at the ankle—he was kind of a weird dude—but his shoes were awesome. He was a security guard and said they were for sneaking up on the baddies. I listened to him walking around, and you seriously couldn't hear him."

I snorted. "Sure, soundless in a mall. Drop him in a forest and let him sneak up on a turkey. Then I'd believe those were quality moccasins."

The Cobbler's head dipped to the side and he paused, processing the turkey comment no doubt. And I paused to process it as well. Turkey. Not a deer or rabbit or any other average forest mammal. Classic Buttercup. I scrambled to take his attention off my weirdness as I bent to put my shoes back on. "So what kind of leather did he use? I mean, did he cure his own, or buy it?"

"I don't know. They looked good. He probably bought it, I assume."

"Because it's hard to find good leather for making moccasins. Don't ask how I know that."

He laughed and headed toward the register.

"So, how much are the insoles?"

"Well normally they'd be $35, but for you, they're on sale for $34.99."

"Oh man, gotta love those penny sales. Okay, I'll take them."

"Listen, your Keens really are going to break in well, and you're not going to need these any more. They have a thirty-day guarantee, and it doesn't matter what shape they're in when you bring them back to me—they could be covered in muffin batter, and I would still take them back."

"I hope I don't have muffin batter in my shoes. I mean, I'm into some weird stuff, but nothing like that." I laughed (joking, right? Everyone knows this is a joke.)

He laughed (he totally knew I was joking). "Well, whatever shape they’re in, I'll make the return if you don't need them anymore. And with the Keens, you shouldn't need them for long." He rang me up and leaned against the counter toward me. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything else you need?"

I thought about saying, "Yeah, your number." But nearly dropped dead at just the thought, and so said that that was all.

"Okay, great. I have to ask you, though..."

I looked up with big giant pink hearts in my eyes, I'm sure.

"I have to ask, where's my scone?"

"Your what?"

"You've been in a couple times and you still haven't brought me any baked goods from your bakery. Next time, I think you should definitely bring me a scone."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea you were a scone man. Next time, I will definitely bring some goodies."

So I left thinking he's given me two reasons, that he generated himself, for me to come back and visit him. Maybe...maybe it wasn't all in my head and it wouldn't be a lesson in utter humiliation after all...