I, like all good airline passengers who have checked bags
do, went to the baggage claim area. Right away, a man
approached me with an offer to shine my shoes. I politely
declined, laughing to myself about how the shoes I was
wearing, like most things purchased at Target, were unshinable.
The only footwear less shinable than what I was wearing
would have been flip flops.
The man, like his sales motivation tapes
must have instructed him, did not take "no thank
you" for an answer. Well, he took it, but ignored
it.
"Only three dollars," he explained.
"Oh," he expected me to say.
"Only three dollars? Well then shine my unshinable
shoes, I'm steppin' out!"
Three dollars was practically the price
for the shoes. I again politely declined, this time saying,
"That's a good deal, but no thank you." I didn't
want a shine, nor would I pay three dollars for one done
while I was standing up, but there was no reason to discourage
him from bothering other people.
"I'll do a really good job,"
he further explained.
"Oh," he expected me to say.
"A good job? I assumed at such a bargain price, this
would be an amateur shine. But now that I know your shoe
shine skills, shine me up! I'm steppin' out!"
I don't know why he kept expecting me
to say that I'm stepping out, but he did.
I again politely declined, this time saying,
"I just shined them." If he didn't know they
couldn't be shined, how would he know I hadn't already
shined them? Perhaps, while purchasing a hearty libation,
I ran into his rival shoe-shiner JP Wigginsbottom, who
charged me just $2.75. Wigginsbottom, you crafty scallawag.
"Please?" he pathetically asked.
I wanted to be polite. I also wanted to
tell him that my job doesn't require me to own shoes,
let shine them. But I needed to put my unshiny foot down.
"No," I said. "I do not
want a shoeshine."
"Only three dollars," he said
again, restarting the only sales pitch he was trained
to give.
It was pathetic, and I thought about giving
him the three dollars to help him and so he'd go away.
My heart was bleeding, but my head was getting more than
annoyed.
"No," I said even more sternly
and focused on finding my bags so that I could fix the
handles I'm sure the baggage handlers broke. See? I had
better ways to spend that three dollars.
My bags came a few minutes later, just
about the time my phone rang. So with bags in each hand
and over each shoulder, and with my phone resting between
my ear and one of my bags, I felt a tap on my arm.
"I'll do a good job," said a
voice behind me.
And that's when I lost it and killed everyone
in the airport. Okay, so I just rejected the man for the
sixth time and walked away. Slowly, so I wouldn't drop
my phone as I muttered "six times!" in disbelief.
I am torn about the situation. Everyone
has a right to make a living, but this guy was being impossibly
frustrating. Why should his living interfere with my day?
Perhaps some people enjoy the option of getting a standup
shoeshine at the airport, which is why he was tolerated
by security. But if security wants him there, the airport
should build him a booth. Nothing fancy - you've got to
keep your overhead low if you only charge $3 for a shine.
I didn't tell any of the guards how pushy
the man was to get him tossed, as I easily could have.
I figured that while I was annoyed by him, I'd rectify
my torn-ness by letting him stick around to annoy other
people. Besides, I was in the city of brotherly love,
right?
And I, like any humor columnist would,
thought it was funny to watch him approach someone else.
Steve Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots
books, which are available at SteveHofstetter.com.
E-mail him at steve@stevehofstetter.com.
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