"Aw, c'mon, Sir. The friendship seat's not that bad."
"Friendship seat? Why would you call the middle seat a friendship seat?"
Becauuuse. You have 3 hours and two strangers on either side of you. By the time you get to your destination, you might just have two new friends."
And so Hubby's day began. If you've seen the reality show AIRLINE, then you've gotten a pretty good glimpse into his work days. Always something. And his hard sell on the "friendship" seat should have been a clue that perhaps it was going to be one of...those days.
As he worked the crazy pace of the ticket counter (less help, more work these days), he couldn't help but notice the bits and pieces of what appeared to be packing material of some sort, scattered here and there, all over the floor behind the counter.
"Cleaning crew's gonna have a good time with that," he facetiously thought.
Weird thing was, it seemed there was more and more of the mysterious packing material on the floor as the morning passed.
Or was he just imagining that.
Later into his shift, a friend and co-worker inquired, "Why are you walking like an old man?" He gave some passive response and continued to shuffle through his day. And here is where I must take you back, so like me, you can choke on your bagel as you laugh and laugh. :D
See, way back in 2004, we were living on 3½ acres in northern Ohio. My husband was working at Hopkins International and life was routine. That is, until the day we got the call that changed our lives. My husband's airline was pulling out of Cleveland. Just like that, we had to put our dream home on the market and prepare to move away from family and our hometown.
My husband first went to Chicago and commuted home to see us on weekends until he could transfer out of there. Finally, he got a position in Indianapolis in the summer of 2005 and we were all reunited here in November 2005. We had spent a total of 14 months apart.
During his time in Chicago, I was soley responsible for packing our belongings, getting our house show-ready for open houses (with a then 5 year old, 3 year old and 2 year old under foot), and eventually making arrangements for our move to Indy. I packed a little at a time, labeling and moving each box to the basement until our move.
We rented an apartment when we arrived in Indy, to give us time to learn the area and find the right place to live. In June 2006, we were finally in our new home. And that's when I unpacked all the boxes that had been sealed up as far back as July of 2004.
All except one.
One box had been overlooked by me when I placed it in a crawl space with holiday decorations, under our stairs. I found that box the other day and began to sort through its contents. Most were trinkets from a curio cabinet back in the old house. But a few personal items were also in there. A few ball hats, purses, and, "Oh, look. Honey, remember these shoes? They're not heavily worn. In fact, they look pretty darn good for being in storage the past 5 or 6 years. Try them on."
He did, and they fit perfectly.
"Wear them tomorrow. For old time's sake. After all, they're classic and in good condition."
"Why not!", Hubby responded.
And wear them he did.
Not such a good idea after all.
Because as it turns out, wearing shoes that have been in storage for 5 or 6 years, no matter what the appearance, is apparently a bad idea.
Remember that packing material my Hubby saw all over the ticket counter floor?
Uh huh, well.
It was actually the soles of his shoes, literally breaking up and falling off bit by precious little bit. Over the course of his work day, bigger and bigger pieces (let's call them hunks) began to fall off.
Work a little, drop me some sole. Work a little, drop me some sole.
At one point, he was walking from the gate to the counter and he punted something. That's right. His toe actually kicked something into the air.
It turned out to be a large section of the shoe sole near his toe and he actually sent it flying.
I. kid. you. not.
(we interrupt this story to allow for a quick potty break, because if you're laughing as hard as me right now, then I know you have to go.)
All day long, his shoes were falling apart underneath him and he was powerless to stop it. You know, I haven't met an airline customer service agent yet who hasn't given the stapler a smack or two to hold a loose hem in place until needle and thread could ply the fabric. But no stapler was going to fix this mess. No tape either (agents use that for dog hair removal from their uniforms, lol.) No, this one was a disaster of the first magnitude.
So there my poor Hubby was, shuffling along, all day long, just like a little old man to keep what remained of his soles intact.
Don't believe me?
Alrighty then, see for yourself (and notice the big toe section that is gone from the right shoe).
So the moral of the story is, the next time you have a bad day, I would encourage you to think about the day my husband's shoes fell apart. Then stand on your own two feet in confidence and see your glass as half full. Because it truly is. Thee end!
(btw, I most certainly did get my husband's permission to tell this story. His sense of humor is every bit as warped as mine so, after we laughed ourselves silly over it, he agreed that I can tell it "to the world." ;)
Live wise in Him!
Live wise in Him!