In my teens through my early 30s, I sold shoes for a living (by the way, not a typo, I never soled shoes in my life). I say this because of my fond regard of the once popular shoehorn; that comma-shaped fitting tool that helps to fit a size 9 foot into a size 7 shoe. In the shoe biz, the only thing that might keep you safe from an unsocked, sweaty foot could be one of these 4-inch wonders that you kept holstered in your rear pocket. With lightning quickness, I remember how I could draw it, cradle the foot, and help a damsel (or monsieur) in distress squeeze their 10-pound sausage into a five-pound sausage casing.
For many years, I carried a chromed shoehorn that would be pressed into service in numerous ways, sort of the Swiss Army knife of shoe salesperson tools. Sometimes I used it as a screwdriver for a finicky air filter cover in my car. I jimmied open a stuck car ashtray that too much change blocked up with one. I, God forgive me, used it as a spoon to quickly inhale lunch a couple of times during busy store days. It doubled as a doorstop. I used it as a coffee stirrer. That old shoehorn proved to be very versatile.
Towards the end of my shoe selling run, metal shoehorns were rapidly being replaced by daintier plastic shoe spoons. They were cheap and plentiful, but you couldn't use them to remove a piece of piping hot bread out of the toaster. For years afterward, I would find these little beauties in sock doors, packed up possessions, and in random odd places, for example, in a medicine cabinet or under an easy chair.
Being "shoehorned" into something used to mean being squeezed into something uncomfortable. And while a shoehorn can still be found lingering in a self-serve shoe department, there are fewer and fewer to be found. Probably because people finally figured out that your feet don't need to hurt for fashion anymore and that is without a doubt, good.
For many years, I carried a chromed shoehorn that would be pressed into service in numerous ways, sort of the Swiss Army knife of shoe salesperson tools. Sometimes I used it as a screwdriver for a finicky air filter cover in my car. I jimmied open a stuck car ashtray that too much change blocked up with one. I, God forgive me, used it as a spoon to quickly inhale lunch a couple of times during busy store days. It doubled as a doorstop. I used it as a coffee stirrer. That old shoehorn proved to be very versatile.
Towards the end of my shoe selling run, metal shoehorns were rapidly being replaced by daintier plastic shoe spoons. They were cheap and plentiful, but you couldn't use them to remove a piece of piping hot bread out of the toaster. For years afterward, I would find these little beauties in sock doors, packed up possessions, and in random odd places, for example, in a medicine cabinet or under an easy chair.
Being "shoehorned" into something used to mean being squeezed into something uncomfortable. And while a shoehorn can still be found lingering in a self-serve shoe department, there are fewer and fewer to be found. Probably because people finally figured out that your feet don't need to hurt for fashion anymore and that is without a doubt, good.
No comments:
Post a Comment