Barefoot and Approachable

My wife and I joke that we must be friendly-looking people, because people like to chat with us, even when we’re glum or distant, or in my case barefoot, too. Sometime in the 80s, I stood with my cart  in a grocery check-out lane. The line moved slowly, I hoped to finish the errand soon, and I felt a little self-conscious about having bare feet. I must've looked blank or annoyed, but an older lady struck up a conversation!

A lost and anxious family, with maps in hand, chose tired, shoeless me among others fueling their cars at a Midwestern, I-64 gas station, to ask for help. Just an amiable-seeming person, even when fatigued! I don’t remember where they were going but they were from the east coast (New Jersey, I think), and this area of the interstate was rather isolated. I knew how to advise them, and they were grateful.

I took a break from a tiring road trip and visited a chain bookstore. My sandals still in the car, I went in and stopped in the “Current Events” aisle and browsed the titles. I thought I was “busted” when a clerk approached me. Instead, the clerk declared, “Oh, that’s such an interesting book!” and we chatted a while.

The store’s cool air and durable carpet felt so good as I strolled leisurely around the shelves and checked out the magazines. Later, another clerk called out, “Let me know if you need help finding something!” when I walked by. I purchased quite a few books and thanked the clerks in response to the tolerant or sincere hospitality.

Speaking of book stores: maybe a dozen times over the years, I’ve tiptoed into a book store—a favorite place, or a store discovered on a road trip—without my shoes on. Those stores are pretty good places to visit that way, if you’re so inclined. The floor is carpeted, there’s no threat of broken glass, and most of the folks are lost in thought.