I visited Matt this weekend. My large iced caramel latte and I drove up Friday after work and about an hour into the drive I realized that I had neglected to pack any shoes other than what I was currently wearing. That would have been fine if I had been wearing my cute black ankle boots or some type of neutral flat, because they would both go perfectly with the skinny jeans I had packed for the next day, but I was wearing my “driving shoes.” My driving shoes are old, clunky, pale blue and white sneakers, and I wear them when I have to drive long distances because there is nothing worse than being uncomfortable in the footwear department when you are putting the pedal to the proverbial metal for upwards of an hour.
When I got to Matt’s I explained my predicament and while he has never had to face the reality of simultaneously sporting clunky sneakers and skinny jeans, he understood the gravity of my situation and you will never guess where he offered to take me.
It’s like there is some magnetic force that pulls me in to the home of roll back pricing. So, the weekend started like any good weekend should, with a trip to Wal Mart and a sobriety check.
Apparently the checkpoint was announced in the local paper earlier that week, and Matt will deny this up and down but I know he took that particular route to Wal Mart because he wanted to go through the sobriety check. He acted “disappointed” and “annoyed” that we would have to “sit in traffic” but I am telling you, he was giddy. We waited in line while we watched police stop each car, talk to the occupants, and shine their flashlights through the backseat windows looking for signs of anything suspicious.
As we got closer, Matt and I turned off the radio, got our licenses ready, and rolled down the windows so we would be ready to prove to the officers that we were big time rule followers. And also sober. Well, we must REALLY give off the big time rule follower vibe, because the officers barely slowed us down enough to throw a coupon and a seatbelt pamphlet through the window and send us on our sober way.
They must have seen my driving shoes.
There was no breathalyzer. No flashlight search. No backwards recitation of the alphabet. Matt hardly even had time to say “Good evening, sir,” which is his greeting of choice when speaking to anyone in authority. Usually when he talks to strangers he addresses them as “buddy/bud.” Parking attendants. Cashiers. Waiters. Toll takers. They’re all his buddies. But he broke out the big guns for the sobriety test and I don’t think the officer even heard it.
Disappointed by the lack of drama, we continued on to Wal Mart where I was able to score some footwear that seriously straddled the fence between slipper and boot for just five American dollars. When we got back to Matt’s apartment it started pouring rain and didn’t stop for the next thirty six hours, which meant I got door to door service wherever we went because Matt is a gentleman. It worked out because I had serious concerns that if water touched my slipper-boots, they would completely disintegrate.
Although the rain ruined our plans for Saturday we had a lovely weekend, and on Sunday afternoon I laced up my driving shoes and came home. The next time I see Matt it will be for his college graduation. I will be sure to bring adequate and appropriate footwear.