SO…I grab my trusty knee-scooter and gets ta wheelin’ to the hotel lobby desk to officially check us out of this dump. Chris, decked out in his tux and the incredible disintegrating shoes, heads out to the parking lot and waits for me.
After squaring things away with the desk clerk, I cut back thru the hotel corridor since it’s the shortest way to get out to the parking lot. As I approach the room we just checked out of, I see a bunch of hotel custodial-type dudes and gals gawking at the hallway carpeting. It, too, is covered in the inky, tar-like streaks from the dissolving shoes. Chris has left a long, dark trail behind him going from the room to waaaay on down the hall to straight out the back exit and into the parking lot.
Janitor Dude # 1: “What the FUCK is THIS SHIT?”
Janitor Gal: “I ain’t NEVAH seen NUTHIN’ like d’at. D’atz jus’ NASTY.”
Janitor Dude # 2: “Well, I ain’t even gonna TRY cleanin’ THAT shit! THAT shit ain’t NEVER comin’ out!”
Janitor Dude # 1 (peering into recently evacuated room): “And LOOK – it’s all over the floor in HERE, TOO! DAY-UM – what IS that?!”
I scoot past as furtively as possible, head ducked. Finally outside, I immediately spot Chris in the middle of the parking lot. He’s leaning against our car in the blazing sunlight, tux all askew. I scoot up to him.
Me: “Why don’t you get in the car and put on the A/C? You look like you’re dying… Wait. Don’t tell me…”
Chris: “The A/C died again. IT’S AN OVEN IN THERE.”
My heart sinks at this horrid (yet unsurprising) bit of news. I look down at THE SHOES. Truly magical, these shoes. All kinds of twigs, gravel, bottle caps and cigarette butts have attached themselves to their melting, gummy bottoms.
Me: “Listen, we should truck the hell outta here, man. The whole cleaning crew’s in there cursing about the black shit all over the hallways...”
Chris: “O, my GOD. It’s all over the hall?”
Me: “Well, what do you think? HELL YEAH, it is! It looks like blatant vandalism,” I point at the ground, “LOOK! It’s all over the parking lot, too – a trail leading directly to The Culprit. You know, honey, you probably shoulda worn your old shoes until…”
Chris: “YEAH, YEAH, YEAH. ALWAYS LATE WITH THE BRIGHT IDEAS, THANKS A MILLION.”
Me: “Hey, I’m just sayin’…”
Chris: “CHRIST. I don’t even know what the hell is up with these goddamn SUSPENDERS…” He’s whipping around like he’s chasing his tail - the dopey suspenders snapping just out of his grasp. I make a move to help but he frantically slaps my hand away:
Chris: “FORGET IT. WE’LL DO IT LATER. I GOTTA GET TO A SHOE STORE RIGHT NOW.”
And once again, it’s GO TIME.
* * * * * *
So! THERE ARE NO SHOE STORES IN ALBANY.
That’s probably an exaggeration, but damned if we can find one. The church is a good half-hour away and we pass every kind of store and shop imaginable along the way and NOT ONE is a SHOE STORE.
I have become Herman, my head dangling out the car window, ears flapping. I ask about four thousand pedestrians along the way: “EXCUSE ME! Can you please tell me where the nearest shoe store is?”
I get nearly the same exact response every time. The person stops and squints at me, mouth hanging open like a trout. Then: “SHOE STORE???” They look up and down the street as if a fucking shoe store is gonna pop up out of the ground. They look back at me, head shaking woefully: “Uhhh…I don’t remember seeing any shoe stores around here…” Each time, impossibly saddened. As if they, too, have only just realized how pathetic this frigging shoe-store-less town is.
Chris is driving and it’s making me really, really nervous. I keep begging him to let me drive but he refuses. We’re losing time here and he doesn’t want to waste ONE SECOND changing seats. So I’m the co-pilot – screaming out barely-heeded warnings:
“HANG ON – WHAT’S THAT? NO – FORGET IT. IT’S JUST A HARDWARE STORE.”
“WATCH OUT FOR THAT WOMAN WITH THE STROLLER.”
“STOP! STOP! YOU’RE RUNNING ANOTHER RED LIGHT!!”
Then: “WAIT! AN ARMY-NAVY STORE! MAYBE THEY’LL AT LEAST HAVE SOME BLACK WORK-BOOTS OR SOME SHIT!”
Chris screeches to a stop in front of this huge old-fashioned army/navy store. He goes inside and emerges seconds later, giving the thumbs-down: Nothin’. Now he is strutting back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the store, putting on an impromptu fashion show for me and whoever else is passing by, preening and grinning deliriously. I’m starting to get more than a little worried here.
Chris: “So what do ya think, hon? Can I pull it off with these bad-boys at the church? Maybe most of the bottoms have worn off by now…”
The entire sidewalk around him is turning black, like two or three dirt-bikes have been doing wheelies. The shoes are as flattened as cardboard and from where I’m sitting in the car I am nauseated by their boiled-rubber stench.
Me: “No. You cannot pull ANYthing off in those fucking things. Get back in the car.”
I’m immediately cursing myself as he climbs back into the driver’s seat, because I really should have taken over the wheel while I had a small window of opportunity. Once again, we’re careening madly thru Albany’s unfamiliar streets and intersections.
“SALVATION ARMY!” We both scream when we spot the building. SCREEEEECH.
I shall never forget the sight of my husband bounding from the car, in his tux, running up to the Salvation Army center. There is a black man who looks utterly destitute sitting at the doorway wearing a dazed, hot expression of hopelessness. He glances up at TUXEDO MAN
Salvation Dude: “Kin ah help you, brother?”
Chris: “I NEED BLACK SHOES – SIZE 13. OR MAYBE EVEN A 12. MY BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED…I’M GOING TO BE LATE…”
The dude shrugs: “Well, go ‘head on in and see whut d’ey got…”
Chris comes out a minute later, empty-handed. He trudges to the car, gets in.
Chris: “Can you believe? They actually HAD a pair of black shoes in my size. Some guy JUST bought ‘em for $5.00 a minute before we got here.”
I want to laugh, but I also want to scream. And I also need to pee, because I’ve been drinking water like a nut because I’m so goddamn dehydrated.
Suddenly, I have a brainstorm… “PAYLESS. There HAS to be a PAYLESS store around here.”
Chris: “Really? Why?”
Me: “Because they’re EVERYWHERE, that’s why. And I definitely saw some big mall-centers when we entered Albany yesterday, back near the thruway.”
Chris: “SHIT! So we have to go all the way back to the thruway …?”
Me: “It’s our only hope. I think we can do this thing, honey. But we gotta keep our heads...”
Chris: “Okay then. BUCKLE UP.”
* * * * *
TO BE CONTINUED…
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