Last night while at work I was quite literally a train wreck. Okay maybe not a train wreck. But if trains were made of plastic and were about 1/10 size and merely fizzled instead of blew up when they collided or derailed, then I would have been a train wreck. So I guess a train wreck is a little bit of an over statement because I'm not made of 240 tons of crushing, steaming, steel - even though sometimes I like to think I am. But any belief that I was made of pure metal was obliterated when I got hit by those two cars a couple weeks ago.
So if I'm not steel then I think I'm made of alloy - some sort of partial solid mix in a metallic matrix...thing. Not quite as tough as steel but not quite as soft as pure gold.
So whatever sort of collision I was last night was due to a combination of lack of sleep, excitement for nationals, Diet Coke, and the butterflies I get out of working at City Sports. That sounded like sarcasm, but in all honestly it's not. I absolutely could not adore my job more than I already do. It's right next door to my dorm, I get to test out whatever shoe I want, stretch my calves, hang out with some of the best people I know, and talk about nothing but running, triathlons, and training. It's perfect. It doesn't hurt that I get to wear sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes, either. Oh and the up to 65% discount doesn't suck too hard either. And I'm sure CS appreciates that 90% of my paycheck is invested right back into the store.
Speaking of tennis shoes - here's my first "miscommunication" of the night. Did you know in the midwest every type of lace up shoe with a rubber sole is put under the broad category of tennis shoe? I wear tennis shoes every day. I wear tennis shoes to run. Tennis shoes to walk in the city. Tennis shoes to lift. I have four pairs of tennis shoes. I love tennis shoes, you might say I have an addiction. Do I play tennis? Absolutely not. I took an entire summers of tennis lessons and to me, love is still something you feel with your heart and a Prince marries the princess.
When I hear sneakers I think of classic America circa 1970's. As in the ugly, cream colored Converse shoes or some sort of old school basketball shoe you would find in a gym class, along with the short shorts and calf socks with the stripes on them. Oh and a sweat band - something directly out of Napoleon Dynamite.
And a trainer? Those are the velcro motion control shoes grandma wears. Or maybe a diaper...
On the east coast, people run in sneakers. Lift in trainers. And wear tennis shoes only on the court. Holding up an Asics Cumulus 11 or Nimbus 12 and calling it a tennis shoe is one sure fire way to get a very confused looking customer, which I did yesterday and was corrected...multiple times.
After my little shoe mix up, I had numerous other hiccups. Such as when I literally threw a box of shoes at a customer. Usually sales associates don't do that..but I got a little ambitious, a little over confident. I decided I handle carrying 3 boxes of shoes with a shoe on top and another box in the other hand. I got really excited that I almost pulled it off when I approached the customer, so I decided to finish off strong and chuck it at his face. Awesome. He bought the shoes...maybe he's into that sort of thing.
After that I made a pass at a 50 year old man who works for Facilities Management at BU, or so it would seem. Oh hey they're just my type, so why not? Anyway, I had been working with this guy for over an hour bringing him every single shoe in a size 11 we had in the back. I was DETERMINED to find one he liked. I made it my sole goal of the night: this man would not leave City Sports without a pair of tennis sh - DAMNIT. SNEAKERS.
So I FINALLY FOUND A PAIR HE LIKED. The Brooks Glycerine was our man - I was on a high. That kind of high you get when you know you changed some one's life forever. You know how it goes.
So he thanked me and gave me one of those half-assed waves, the kind where you keep your hand down by your waist and give a little nod with it.
And, because I'm a very physical person and I am always holding hands with whoever I'm talking to or passing out hugs like protestors in front of Planned Parenthood pass out rosaries, I took it as, "Hey hold my hand!" So what did I do?
I made a grab for his hand.
Oh hey by the way, Katie. People on the east cost don't really like to be touched all that much. Especially strangers. Especially old men.
It led to a super awkward, 2 second encounter that ended with me being super awkward and walking very quickly back to my tennis sh - fuck - sneaker sanctuary.
The NEXT customer actually DID want to shake my hand after I helped him pick out Chucks. And what did I do? I hesitated, put my hand out, drew it back, then awkwardly grabbed 2 of his fingers. Then retreated back to my hole. Damn. I've been tainted. I'll never be able to properly shake hands again, I'll always have to think about it: Do they want me to shake their hand? Do they not? How do I know? Is this another half assed wave? I bet this is a half assed wave. Wait no, now they're keeping it there. Are they stretching? They're probably stretching. Oh wait no they're drawing it back...KATIE DON'T BE RUDE GRAB THEIR HAND!!
..well that was awkward.
Ugh. I swear, If awkward were an atom, I'd be the valence electron.
love love love
me
So if I'm not steel then I think I'm made of alloy - some sort of partial solid mix in a metallic matrix...thing. Not quite as tough as steel but not quite as soft as pure gold.
So whatever sort of collision I was last night was due to a combination of lack of sleep, excitement for nationals, Diet Coke, and the butterflies I get out of working at City Sports. That sounded like sarcasm, but in all honestly it's not. I absolutely could not adore my job more than I already do. It's right next door to my dorm, I get to test out whatever shoe I want, stretch my calves, hang out with some of the best people I know, and talk about nothing but running, triathlons, and training. It's perfect. It doesn't hurt that I get to wear sweatpants, t-shirt, and tennis shoes, either. Oh and the up to 65% discount doesn't suck too hard either. And I'm sure CS appreciates that 90% of my paycheck is invested right back into the store.
Speaking of tennis shoes - here's my first "miscommunication" of the night. Did you know in the midwest every type of lace up shoe with a rubber sole is put under the broad category of tennis shoe? I wear tennis shoes every day. I wear tennis shoes to run. Tennis shoes to walk in the city. Tennis shoes to lift. I have four pairs of tennis shoes. I love tennis shoes, you might say I have an addiction. Do I play tennis? Absolutely not. I took an entire summers of tennis lessons and to me, love is still something you feel with your heart and a Prince marries the princess.
When I hear sneakers I think of classic America circa 1970's. As in the ugly, cream colored Converse shoes or some sort of old school basketball shoe you would find in a gym class, along with the short shorts and calf socks with the stripes on them. Oh and a sweat band - something directly out of Napoleon Dynamite.
And a trainer? Those are the velcro motion control shoes grandma wears. Or maybe a diaper...
On the east coast, people run in sneakers. Lift in trainers. And wear tennis shoes only on the court. Holding up an Asics Cumulus 11 or Nimbus 12 and calling it a tennis shoe is one sure fire way to get a very confused looking customer, which I did yesterday and was corrected...multiple times.
After my little shoe mix up, I had numerous other hiccups. Such as when I literally threw a box of shoes at a customer. Usually sales associates don't do that..but I got a little ambitious, a little over confident. I decided I handle carrying 3 boxes of shoes with a shoe on top and another box in the other hand. I got really excited that I almost pulled it off when I approached the customer, so I decided to finish off strong and chuck it at his face. Awesome. He bought the shoes...maybe he's into that sort of thing.
After that I made a pass at a 50 year old man who works for Facilities Management at BU, or so it would seem. Oh hey they're just my type, so why not? Anyway, I had been working with this guy for over an hour bringing him every single shoe in a size 11 we had in the back. I was DETERMINED to find one he liked. I made it my sole goal of the night: this man would not leave City Sports without a pair of tennis sh - DAMNIT. SNEAKERS.
So I FINALLY FOUND A PAIR HE LIKED. The Brooks Glycerine was our man - I was on a high. That kind of high you get when you know you changed some one's life forever. You know how it goes.
So he thanked me and gave me one of those half-assed waves, the kind where you keep your hand down by your waist and give a little nod with it.
And, because I'm a very physical person and I am always holding hands with whoever I'm talking to or passing out hugs like protestors in front of Planned Parenthood pass out rosaries, I took it as, "Hey hold my hand!" So what did I do?
I made a grab for his hand.
Oh hey by the way, Katie. People on the east cost don't really like to be touched all that much. Especially strangers. Especially old men.
It led to a super awkward, 2 second encounter that ended with me being super awkward and walking very quickly back to my tennis sh - fuck - sneaker sanctuary.
The NEXT customer actually DID want to shake my hand after I helped him pick out Chucks. And what did I do? I hesitated, put my hand out, drew it back, then awkwardly grabbed 2 of his fingers. Then retreated back to my hole. Damn. I've been tainted. I'll never be able to properly shake hands again, I'll always have to think about it: Do they want me to shake their hand? Do they not? How do I know? Is this another half assed wave? I bet this is a half assed wave. Wait no, now they're keeping it there. Are they stretching? They're probably stretching. Oh wait no they're drawing it back...KATIE DON'T BE RUDE GRAB THEIR HAND!!
..well that was awkward.
Ugh. I swear, If awkward were an atom, I'd be the valence electron.
love love love
me
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