Thu, April 17, 2003

At dinner with friends a few weeks back, someone brought up shoe horns. I responded with "I've got a great shoe horn story." (This is right up there with "That's my favorite line from Weekend at Bernie's," as far as things I've said that have probably never before or since been uttered by another human being.)

I told my shoe horn story, and I've regretted it ever since because I strongly believe that it may single-handedly lead to the termination of the friendship. (Thankfully, I checked and my friend doesn't even remember me telling it, so I guess I'm clear.) It's not altogether a bad story, it's just not one that ever needed to be shared. It's boring and it has absolutely no point.

Well, since then, I've talked myself into believing that there was a point, albeit a useless one, so now the story will again be told. (It was much, much shorter the first time around.)

Because of how cutely obsessive-compulsive I am, I have a little hook in my front hall closet that my shoe horn hangs on. All my shoes are in that closet, too, so – like the late Mr. Rogers – the first thing I do when I come home is take my shoes off and the last thing I do when I leave is put them on. This way, I minimize the clonking-around noise for my downstairs neighbor. The shoe horn hangs nearby to make everything go that much more quickly.

Some days, though, I feel a little bit crazy and rebellious, and I just use the old rock-and-squish method of getting the heel into the back of the shoe. (Surprisingly, there is no log hanging inside the closet door, so I do not have a record of which days these are.) The main difference in this approach is that it takes longer to get the shoes on.

So, one day when it took longer than usual to put my shoes on, I stood up and noticed the difference. You see, most of my shoes are relatively thick-soled, so there's about an inch of difference between me in socks and me shod. It startled me a little, the same feeling as putting on your new glasses for the first time. All of a sudden, rather than growing an inch so fast you don't have time to notice it, I actually had time to perceive the difference and it was kind of weird. You wouldn't think that an inch makes all that much difference. (If you've ever shot a film or taken a photograph, you actually realize that it can be quite a change.) But all of a sudden, you look around and there's the top of the fridge.

The point of the story (I've convinced myself) is that sometimes a tiny shift in perspective can have a startling effect.

(My favorite line from Weekend at Bernie's, by the way, is "That's illegal. What you're doing is illegal." It happens when they're stealing a boat and they knock over the breakfast of some rich couple eating on their own boat as they speed by. I use it a lot, particularly in traffic.)

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