Benny and I went to get breakfast, but he had to make a phone call first. He used a pay phone, something I haven't seen in awhile. He talked to someone and arranged to meet later. When he got off the phone, I asked what he did for a living. He said he was in real estate; he followed up by saying that he didn't like to carry his cell phone with him. Hmm...never met someone who had a cell phone and didn't like to carry it, much less someone in real estate.
He had driven here from DC, and he was planning to stay the day. He told me and had told other people that Prince was planning on playing that night at a restaurant called Butter. Prince fans could buy a ticket for $121 by logging on the official website at noon. How come I didn't know this information? The announcement was made on the website at midnight the night before, when we were all in line. We hadn't met Benny till the morning, when he showed up in the front of the line with a gym bag full of handmade tee shirts he had made. I bought one, and let him cut in front of me. I had asked him if he had more, but he said they were in the car, so I just bought what he had. He was charming.
We stopped at a place to get something to eat. I told him I had to eat cheaply because I had given him all of my money to get the tee shirt. He offered to buy me something, but I declined. He saw some more fans in the place and went over to tell them about Butter. What a schmoozer. We talked about plans for the day. I told him I couldn't really afford to drop $121 for a ticket, and besides I didn't have a place to stay, I would be wandering the streets all day on 2 hours of sleep, dragging a sleeping bag around with me. He said he was going to get a hotel room and I could use it to take a shower or whatever. He was going to buy a cheap linen suit for Butter. Maybe I could get myself some shoes, let my hair down, then I'd be ready for Butter. Thanks, Benny.
I noticed his wedding band and asked if his wife was a Prince fan. He said she wasn't. She was home in DC, pregnant with their first child. This was his last hurrah before becoming a stay at home dad.
It was around 11:00, and I still needed to think. We passed by an internet place, so we went in to check out the website. I logged on, and indeed, what he said was true. Tickets went on sale at noon. What was I going to do? He suggested we go over to the public library, where logging on was free. At least we could try to get a ticket.
I hemmed and hawed. At one point I said that I thought I'd just go back to Boston, and he said, "Yeah, you know, I might just go back to DC too. Should we just go to the bus station?" I thought he had a car? Hmm...I wasn't sure what to do, and he suggested we just try the public library. Okay. I was thinking on 2 hours of sleep. Fuzzy.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Prince @ Bryant Park 3
About 6:00 Benny worms his way to the front, as do a couple of women I've chummed it up with. It's very hard to tell people that no, they can't cut in line and stand with me. The pregnant aunt and her nieces call me over, wondering where I've been. I go back up to my original spot and thank them. They remind me of the alliance.
The park opens up at 7:00. It's very organized. A man announces that they will let people in 10 at a time, and we are instructed to walk, not run, to the stage. We listen to instructions. I hang with my new pals and we gather together behind the VIP section, pretty close to the stage. I make new pals. A woman in front of me tells me and this other woman that we need to have her back, because if Sheila E comes out, she will fall backwards. We promise to catch her. Her pal who works with her at the post office has a nice digital camera, which he uses to capture all the beautiful female Prince fans in the audience.
The stage is set up with big black screens so we can hear what's going on behind them but can't see anything. We hear the sound check, the same song (Get on the Boat) about 5 times. We get excited every time. In between sound checks, the newest CD (3121) is played. My favorite jam (Black Sweat) comes on, and I go crazy. Black fans see white girl kick it and are surprised and impressed.
8:30--concert starts. Prince comes out looking like a baby's nursery. He has on a light pink suit and a turquoise shirt. Only Prince can work an outfit like that. He looks as hot as ever. He and his protege play 3 songs. Sheila E comes out, and we have to fan the fan in front of us. She swoons, but doesn't faint. After each song, during the commercial breaks, Prince messes with the sound system. He is not satisfied. We don't care. Sounds good to us.
After 3 songs, Prince exits and we chant, "More, more, more!" He does not give us more. That's it. Half an hour. Way too short. We are told how to exit safely. I stand in a daze. The crowd thins. I think I see Frenchie, a contestant on American Idol, season 3. She got booted off after it came out that she had been on an adult website. She showed America what was what when she got hired to be in Rent on Broadway.
I ask my new friends who wants to get breakfast. Everyone has to go to work, but Benny says he'll get breakfast with me. We leave the park.
The park opens up at 7:00. It's very organized. A man announces that they will let people in 10 at a time, and we are instructed to walk, not run, to the stage. We listen to instructions. I hang with my new pals and we gather together behind the VIP section, pretty close to the stage. I make new pals. A woman in front of me tells me and this other woman that we need to have her back, because if Sheila E comes out, she will fall backwards. We promise to catch her. Her pal who works with her at the post office has a nice digital camera, which he uses to capture all the beautiful female Prince fans in the audience.
The stage is set up with big black screens so we can hear what's going on behind them but can't see anything. We hear the sound check, the same song (Get on the Boat) about 5 times. We get excited every time. In between sound checks, the newest CD (3121) is played. My favorite jam (Black Sweat) comes on, and I go crazy. Black fans see white girl kick it and are surprised and impressed.
8:30--concert starts. Prince comes out looking like a baby's nursery. He has on a light pink suit and a turquoise shirt. Only Prince can work an outfit like that. He looks as hot as ever. He and his protege play 3 songs. Sheila E comes out, and we have to fan the fan in front of us. She swoons, but doesn't faint. After each song, during the commercial breaks, Prince messes with the sound system. He is not satisfied. We don't care. Sounds good to us.
After 3 songs, Prince exits and we chant, "More, more, more!" He does not give us more. That's it. Half an hour. Way too short. We are told how to exit safely. I stand in a daze. The crowd thins. I think I see Frenchie, a contestant on American Idol, season 3. She got booted off after it came out that she had been on an adult website. She showed America what was what when she got hired to be in Rent on Broadway.
I ask my new friends who wants to get breakfast. Everyone has to go to work, but Benny says he'll get breakfast with me. We leave the park.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Prince @ Bryant Park 2 (long, but interesting)
Robin got in line with me for a little while, we caught up, and then he went home. I began schmoozing, seeing who was who and what was what.
The first guy in line was Sean, who worked at the library right at the edge of the park. He got there at 5:45. Next was a man, and then two women, all of whom were not very talkative. They got there at 7:00. Next was a husband and wife team who were very talkative. A lot of fun. And right in front of me, a pregnant woman who brought a canvas hammock, so help me god.
Then came me, and then Rosalie, a woman from NYC, and behind her, a man who was originally from Israel and travelled a lot. I went around and said hi to all these people and said, "Okay guys, now, let's form an alliance!" Someone said, "What is this, Survivor?" and I told her it sure was, because we needed to stick together when people wanted to cut in line and once we got to the stage we shouldn't let anyone in front of us. We all agreed to watch each other's backs.
I became the unofficial line counter, just because I was curious. I walked up and down the line with a little notebook, taking notes and counting. People thought I was from a newspaper or from Good Morning America. I liked that, and didn't always say that it was just for my scrapbook and blog. Here are some of my recordings:
11:45 pm--19 people in line, including folks from New Jersey, Washington DC, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. After telling them I had travelled from Boston, I shouted out, "New England represent!"
1:00 am--Rosalie and I went around the corner to check out the VIP section. These were people who had won tickets to be the first people to go in. There were 6 of them when we first checked it out.
People often identified themselves by usernames from Prince's website. "Hi, I'm Utopia 7." "Hi, I'm Rosalie." "You're Rosalie! Girl, I dissed you last week, but what you said was crazy!" I was told if I wanted some free entertainment, go to the chat room and watch the fun.
After we met the VIPs, we went back to our section and I cuddled up in my sleeping bag (sans pad) and slept for 2 hours. I woke up at 3:00 feeling...well, not exactly refreshed, but good. I decided anyone who was in line after 3:00 was not a diehard fan because they didn't exactly spend the night. There were probably about 50 diehard fans.
A drunk homeless man came to our section with a sign that said, "Why lie? I want a beer." I thought it was funny. He chatted with us for a few minutes. I decided to take a picture of this scene for my scrapbook. Big mistake. I think I must have set off a Post Traumatic Stress episode in him, because when the flash went off, so did he. He started talking at me and pointing his finger. Rosalie tried to calm him down by making small talk, but he wouldn't leave me alone. I dealt with it by sitting Japanese seiza style and going into a trance, staring straight ahead and not saying a word. You can't talk sense to someone when they're ranting. I was fully aware of the man, and was waiting, waiting for him to actually touch me with that pointy finger so I could get up and kick his ass. Luckily for him, his friend came along, whispered something in his ear, and boom, they were gone. Rosalie told me she had my back, but she hadn't realized I had a pit bull within me.
3:15 am--78 people in line, plus 11 VIPs. I chose people at random to tell what their number was. One guy who was proud of being from Brooklyn was number 35.
4:10 am--105 people. I goofed when I told Mr. Brooklyn that he was 45. He said, "What? Last time I was 35!" Oh boy. We had people sneaking in the front already.
5:00 am--260. After that I stopped counting.
At 5:32 the park sprinkler system came on, waking those who were sleeping and soaking people's things. We all became a little more aware.
One and a half hours till the park opened.
The first guy in line was Sean, who worked at the library right at the edge of the park. He got there at 5:45. Next was a man, and then two women, all of whom were not very talkative. They got there at 7:00. Next was a husband and wife team who were very talkative. A lot of fun. And right in front of me, a pregnant woman who brought a canvas hammock, so help me god.
Then came me, and then Rosalie, a woman from NYC, and behind her, a man who was originally from Israel and travelled a lot. I went around and said hi to all these people and said, "Okay guys, now, let's form an alliance!" Someone said, "What is this, Survivor?" and I told her it sure was, because we needed to stick together when people wanted to cut in line and once we got to the stage we shouldn't let anyone in front of us. We all agreed to watch each other's backs.
I became the unofficial line counter, just because I was curious. I walked up and down the line with a little notebook, taking notes and counting. People thought I was from a newspaper or from Good Morning America. I liked that, and didn't always say that it was just for my scrapbook and blog. Here are some of my recordings:
11:45 pm--19 people in line, including folks from New Jersey, Washington DC, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. After telling them I had travelled from Boston, I shouted out, "New England represent!"
1:00 am--Rosalie and I went around the corner to check out the VIP section. These were people who had won tickets to be the first people to go in. There were 6 of them when we first checked it out.
People often identified themselves by usernames from Prince's website. "Hi, I'm Utopia 7." "Hi, I'm Rosalie." "You're Rosalie! Girl, I dissed you last week, but what you said was crazy!" I was told if I wanted some free entertainment, go to the chat room and watch the fun.
After we met the VIPs, we went back to our section and I cuddled up in my sleeping bag (sans pad) and slept for 2 hours. I woke up at 3:00 feeling...well, not exactly refreshed, but good. I decided anyone who was in line after 3:00 was not a diehard fan because they didn't exactly spend the night. There were probably about 50 diehard fans.
A drunk homeless man came to our section with a sign that said, "Why lie? I want a beer." I thought it was funny. He chatted with us for a few minutes. I decided to take a picture of this scene for my scrapbook. Big mistake. I think I must have set off a Post Traumatic Stress episode in him, because when the flash went off, so did he. He started talking at me and pointing his finger. Rosalie tried to calm him down by making small talk, but he wouldn't leave me alone. I dealt with it by sitting Japanese seiza style and going into a trance, staring straight ahead and not saying a word. You can't talk sense to someone when they're ranting. I was fully aware of the man, and was waiting, waiting for him to actually touch me with that pointy finger so I could get up and kick his ass. Luckily for him, his friend came along, whispered something in his ear, and boom, they were gone. Rosalie told me she had my back, but she hadn't realized I had a pit bull within me.
3:15 am--78 people in line, plus 11 VIPs. I chose people at random to tell what their number was. One guy who was proud of being from Brooklyn was number 35.
4:10 am--105 people. I goofed when I told Mr. Brooklyn that he was 45. He said, "What? Last time I was 35!" Oh boy. We had people sneaking in the front already.
5:00 am--260. After that I stopped counting.
At 5:32 the park sprinkler system came on, waking those who were sleeping and soaking people's things. We all became a little more aware.
One and a half hours till the park opened.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Prince @ Bryant Park 1
This post is gonna take awhile. Lots of stories to tell. I'll try to keep it interesting. Not gonna worry about grammar this time.
Took the Greyhound bus to NYC right after work on Thursday. I was worried that I would be late, but realized there was nothing I could do about it. I would get there, meet my friend Robin who would walk over with me, and get in line. All I could do.
I arrived at around 8:15, earlier than scheduled. Sweet! I waited for Robin. And waited. And waited. As I was waiting, I noticed a group of young Japanese men sitting down with a guide book and a cell phone. How did I know they were Japanese? I can spot 'em a mile away; I have Japan-dar! Plus I recognized the writing on the book. I went over and asked if they needed any help. They said they were trying to find a hotel, but they were all booked. They were Japanese, currently living in Canada. Bankooba. Translation: Vancouver.
I asked if they knew Prince. Huh? Oh, Prince, the singer! Uh, yeah, why? I told them that I was camping out for the night to see him; I didn't have a place to stay either. Wanna hang out with me to see Prince? They respectfully declined, and I respectfully wished them luck and went back to waiting.
A few minutes later they came over and asked if I knew a certain hotel in Chinatown. I did not. They showed me the place and asked if I knew the best way to get there. I did not. I called the place and asked; got the info, and told them what to do. They were thankful, I did my good deed for the day, and went back to waiting for Robin, which by this time was going on 45 minutes.
Robin came breezing in. Turns out he was waiting across the street in the other bus building. Oh well. We (or rather, I) booked it over to the park, stopping at McDonald's on the way to grab a bite to eat. Yep, more crap to digest. Yes, I read Fast Food Nation. Yes, I still eat at McDonald's when desperate times call for desperate measures.
Got to the park and asked where the line started. Was directed to the spot. Where I was not the first in line. I was eighth. Good enough.
Took the Greyhound bus to NYC right after work on Thursday. I was worried that I would be late, but realized there was nothing I could do about it. I would get there, meet my friend Robin who would walk over with me, and get in line. All I could do.
I arrived at around 8:15, earlier than scheduled. Sweet! I waited for Robin. And waited. And waited. As I was waiting, I noticed a group of young Japanese men sitting down with a guide book and a cell phone. How did I know they were Japanese? I can spot 'em a mile away; I have Japan-dar! Plus I recognized the writing on the book. I went over and asked if they needed any help. They said they were trying to find a hotel, but they were all booked. They were Japanese, currently living in Canada. Bankooba. Translation: Vancouver.
I asked if they knew Prince. Huh? Oh, Prince, the singer! Uh, yeah, why? I told them that I was camping out for the night to see him; I didn't have a place to stay either. Wanna hang out with me to see Prince? They respectfully declined, and I respectfully wished them luck and went back to waiting.
A few minutes later they came over and asked if I knew a certain hotel in Chinatown. I did not. They showed me the place and asked if I knew the best way to get there. I did not. I called the place and asked; got the info, and told them what to do. They were thankful, I did my good deed for the day, and went back to waiting for Robin, which by this time was going on 45 minutes.
Robin came breezing in. Turns out he was waiting across the street in the other bus building. Oh well. We (or rather, I) booked it over to the park, stopping at McDonald's on the way to grab a bite to eat. Yep, more crap to digest. Yes, I read Fast Food Nation. Yes, I still eat at McDonald's when desperate times call for desperate measures.
Got to the park and asked where the line started. Was directed to the spot. Where I was not the first in line. I was eighth. Good enough.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
O+> All Night Long
I'm going on an all night adventure. Prince is having a free concert on Friday morning at 7 am as part of Good Morning America's summer concert series. It's in Bryant Park, a small park in New York City. He and his new protege, Tamar, will play 2-3 songs. Short concert, but worth every hour I spend sleeping on the sidewalk.
I'll leave from work tomorrow and catch a Greyhound bus, which will arrive at 8:30 pm. I hope that's not too late. My plan is to scope out the park and see where the line starts, and then park myself there with my sleeping bag. At first I thought I would be the first one in line, but now I'm not so sure. The woman at Bryant Park said she's been getting a lot of calls for this concert. No surprise there. Well anyway, I'll be one of the first in when the sun comes up.
I'll bring my backpack filled with a notebook, umbrella, camera, Yoo Hoo, and Doritos. Organic food gets the big heave ho for this excursion. The big item is my sleeping bag, but it's light and semi-compact. And warm.
Tune in Friday morning to Good Morning America, 7 am, and see magic right before your eyes. You might even see me in the front row! Next blog will continue the adventure...wish me luck!
I'll leave from work tomorrow and catch a Greyhound bus, which will arrive at 8:30 pm. I hope that's not too late. My plan is to scope out the park and see where the line starts, and then park myself there with my sleeping bag. At first I thought I would be the first one in line, but now I'm not so sure. The woman at Bryant Park said she's been getting a lot of calls for this concert. No surprise there. Well anyway, I'll be one of the first in when the sun comes up.
I'll bring my backpack filled with a notebook, umbrella, camera, Yoo Hoo, and Doritos. Organic food gets the big heave ho for this excursion. The big item is my sleeping bag, but it's light and semi-compact. And warm.
Tune in Friday morning to Good Morning America, 7 am, and see magic right before your eyes. You might even see me in the front row! Next blog will continue the adventure...wish me luck!
Monday, June 12, 2006
Go See the Doctor
I went to see the ear doctor today. Or so I thought. Turned out he was an ear, nose, and throat specialist. See, I've been having this throbbing pain in my left ear for about 5 months, and while not severe, I know it's not normal. My primary care physician didn't find anything, so I took it upon myself to take it to the next level.
First I had an ear test, which found that I had normal hearing, not bionical, as I had suspected and hoped. Next I went in to see the doctor. He came in and asked me a few basic questions: how old are you, do you smoke, do you drink, tell me about the problem. I told him, and he proceeded to look not only into my ears, but into my nose and throat too. Guess they're all connected, duh.
Then he started with the tests, which started out weird and got progressively weirder and more painful. As he began each test he told me exactly what he was going to do, which is usually comforting when seeing a doctor, but not this time.
He asked me to pinch my mouth shut. I felt like I was going to give him a kiss. Ick. Then he asked me to raise my eyebrows. What? Then he said, "Now, I'm going to put my hand on your face and push, and I want you to resist me. Right side--resist. Left side--resist. Good!" Eww! "Stick your tongue out and say 'heeeeee...'" What the hell?!
Then he said, and I am not exaggerating, "Now I'm going to stick my finger down your throat and you will gag. You're supposed to." Great. He did, and I did. Wonderful. Then he stuck a depressor on my tongue and told me to just relax my tongue. I had to stop him at that point and say, "Can you just wait a minute? After I gag, I usually need time to gather myself." This doctor's affect was very flat. It felt like he was going through motions and didn't treat me like the freaked out patient I was.
Finished with the ears and the mouth, he moved on to my nose. He looked up my nose and said that it looked good. Nice compliment. Then he retrieved this contraption from a cabinet that looked like it was from a 1950's science fiction movie. It had a turquoise handle and a long narrow wire thing that stuck out of it. It looked like a skinny gun. At the end of it was a small conical thing with a hole in it. The doctor said to me, in a voice that indicated this was the most normal thing in the world, "Now, I'm going to give you a little spray in your nose to make it numb." He approached my nose with the ray gun, and I held up my hand and said, "Now just wait a minute, please. Now what is this? And why is my nose needing to be numb?" Turned out my nose needed to be numb because the final step was to have an instrument stuck up the inside of it to look around closely. Oh, joy and celebration!
So I allowed him to spray my nose, and that wasn't so bad. I asked him if I was going to feel the instrument in my nose; I expected not too, since I was supposed to be numb. He said, "Oh, you'll feel the instrument in your nose." The one time he shows some emotion is when he's about to inflict the most pain on me. Thank you.
He went back to his magic cabinet and pulled out a black wire with a tiny light at the end of it. We'd moved up to 1980's science fiction. He showed me that it was flexible; when he pulled the end of it, the lighted end rotated around like some electronic worm. That thing was going into my nose. I could hardly contain my excitement.
He put that thing in my nose and oh my god, not only could I feel it, but it hurt! Ouch! I raised my hand, and he said, "Yes?" and I told him that that was just my way of expressing discomfort. He continued. I thought about how much better I liked getting tattooed, and I remembered to go to my "special place" that I went to whenever I needed to not feel pain, like at the tattoo parlor and the dentist. Come to find out my special place could not be reached when being probed by Captain Hook Junior's claw.
He finally finished my session of torture and told me the conclusion of my visit. There was nothing wrong. Perhaps it's just a muscle spasm, and, while annoying, is not anything to worry about. In other words, I had just spent $30 in co-payments and I would just have to live with throbbing pain in my ear. Doctor, I don't know how to thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to listen to my iPod really loud, throw up, and sniff some cocaine. Stimulate the senses a little bit, ya know? Have a nice day.
First I had an ear test, which found that I had normal hearing, not bionical, as I had suspected and hoped. Next I went in to see the doctor. He came in and asked me a few basic questions: how old are you, do you smoke, do you drink, tell me about the problem. I told him, and he proceeded to look not only into my ears, but into my nose and throat too. Guess they're all connected, duh.
Then he started with the tests, which started out weird and got progressively weirder and more painful. As he began each test he told me exactly what he was going to do, which is usually comforting when seeing a doctor, but not this time.
He asked me to pinch my mouth shut. I felt like I was going to give him a kiss. Ick. Then he asked me to raise my eyebrows. What? Then he said, "Now, I'm going to put my hand on your face and push, and I want you to resist me. Right side--resist. Left side--resist. Good!" Eww! "Stick your tongue out and say 'heeeeee...'" What the hell?!
Then he said, and I am not exaggerating, "Now I'm going to stick my finger down your throat and you will gag. You're supposed to." Great. He did, and I did. Wonderful. Then he stuck a depressor on my tongue and told me to just relax my tongue. I had to stop him at that point and say, "Can you just wait a minute? After I gag, I usually need time to gather myself." This doctor's affect was very flat. It felt like he was going through motions and didn't treat me like the freaked out patient I was.
Finished with the ears and the mouth, he moved on to my nose. He looked up my nose and said that it looked good. Nice compliment. Then he retrieved this contraption from a cabinet that looked like it was from a 1950's science fiction movie. It had a turquoise handle and a long narrow wire thing that stuck out of it. It looked like a skinny gun. At the end of it was a small conical thing with a hole in it. The doctor said to me, in a voice that indicated this was the most normal thing in the world, "Now, I'm going to give you a little spray in your nose to make it numb." He approached my nose with the ray gun, and I held up my hand and said, "Now just wait a minute, please. Now what is this? And why is my nose needing to be numb?" Turned out my nose needed to be numb because the final step was to have an instrument stuck up the inside of it to look around closely. Oh, joy and celebration!
So I allowed him to spray my nose, and that wasn't so bad. I asked him if I was going to feel the instrument in my nose; I expected not too, since I was supposed to be numb. He said, "Oh, you'll feel the instrument in your nose." The one time he shows some emotion is when he's about to inflict the most pain on me. Thank you.
He went back to his magic cabinet and pulled out a black wire with a tiny light at the end of it. We'd moved up to 1980's science fiction. He showed me that it was flexible; when he pulled the end of it, the lighted end rotated around like some electronic worm. That thing was going into my nose. I could hardly contain my excitement.
He put that thing in my nose and oh my god, not only could I feel it, but it hurt! Ouch! I raised my hand, and he said, "Yes?" and I told him that that was just my way of expressing discomfort. He continued. I thought about how much better I liked getting tattooed, and I remembered to go to my "special place" that I went to whenever I needed to not feel pain, like at the tattoo parlor and the dentist. Come to find out my special place could not be reached when being probed by Captain Hook Junior's claw.
He finally finished my session of torture and told me the conclusion of my visit. There was nothing wrong. Perhaps it's just a muscle spasm, and, while annoying, is not anything to worry about. In other words, I had just spent $30 in co-payments and I would just have to live with throbbing pain in my ear. Doctor, I don't know how to thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to listen to my iPod really loud, throw up, and sniff some cocaine. Stimulate the senses a little bit, ya know? Have a nice day.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Do You Fluevog?
So it's 6:45 pm and I'm on the train going home. I read my free Metro newspaper and I see a blurb about John Fluevog, the famous shoe designer, being at his store today in Boston from 11-8. I love Fluevogs; they are so chunky and funky. Problem is, they don't fit me quite right. I decide to hop in anyway just to catch a glimpse of the designer and maybe tell him I appreciate what he does.
I go into the store, and there he is, behind the counter. Whoa. There's not too many people in the tiny space, so I could go up to him, but I get nervous. A clerk comes up to me and asks me if I need help. I grab the shoe I'm in love with and tell her my plight. "I really love these shoes, but they don't fit me. The heel always rides up." She says, "Did you try them with the heel pad?" Yes. "With the...?" Yes.
The shoes look like something Minnie Mouse would wear. They're high heeled Mary Janes, red and pink leather, with the funkiest cartoon heel you ever saw. I tell the clerk I just want to tell Mr. Fluevog how much I love his shoes, and she says, "Go 'head, tell him!" and I say, "No, I'm too nervous." She laughs and encourages me. He starts coming over, so I muster up my courage and walk up to him.
I stick out my hand. I say, "Hi, my name is Alex." He says, "Hi, I'm John." Ohmygod he said hi I'm John! While holding the shoe of my dreams, I say, "These are my favorite shoes...but...I can't wear them because my heel is really narrow, and..." and I just sort of trail off. He says, "Oh." I quickly recover. "I might buy them anyway..." and he says, "For bookends, or art or something." "Yes!" I reply, a little too enthusiastically. Nevermind that I have no intention of paying $186.00 for shoes I will buy as bookends because they don't fit me. I say thank you, he says, take care, and I go up to the clerk. "I did it!" She laughs. We say goodbye.
I met John Fluevog. While wearing black Converse low tops with flames on them. How's that for hot?
I go into the store, and there he is, behind the counter. Whoa. There's not too many people in the tiny space, so I could go up to him, but I get nervous. A clerk comes up to me and asks me if I need help. I grab the shoe I'm in love with and tell her my plight. "I really love these shoes, but they don't fit me. The heel always rides up." She says, "Did you try them with the heel pad?" Yes. "With the...?" Yes.
The shoes look like something Minnie Mouse would wear. They're high heeled Mary Janes, red and pink leather, with the funkiest cartoon heel you ever saw. I tell the clerk I just want to tell Mr. Fluevog how much I love his shoes, and she says, "Go 'head, tell him!" and I say, "No, I'm too nervous." She laughs and encourages me. He starts coming over, so I muster up my courage and walk up to him.
I stick out my hand. I say, "Hi, my name is Alex." He says, "Hi, I'm John." Ohmygod he said hi I'm John! While holding the shoe of my dreams, I say, "These are my favorite shoes...but...I can't wear them because my heel is really narrow, and..." and I just sort of trail off. He says, "Oh." I quickly recover. "I might buy them anyway..." and he says, "For bookends, or art or something." "Yes!" I reply, a little too enthusiastically. Nevermind that I have no intention of paying $186.00 for shoes I will buy as bookends because they don't fit me. I say thank you, he says, take care, and I go up to the clerk. "I did it!" She laughs. We say goodbye.
I met John Fluevog. While wearing black Converse low tops with flames on them. How's that for hot?
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