My new shoes came in today, and while I know that may sound uneventful, trust me, it was quite the arrival.
It’s a Friday, which means that the restaurant will be busy; it’s an overcast Friday, which means it will be positively slammed busy; and it’s June 19th; the weekend most of the first session digger’s are departing for Israel. As I’m trudging through the restaurant this morning, (sluggishly of course, having come off of a busy Thursday) getting ready to open, I was hit by jealousy. “Why am I still here?” “It’s not fair…” “Stupid work…” kept racing through my head like a mantra. My mood was turning more sour by the minute, but I was trying to keep my crankiness down to a minimum – Dad would NOT appreciate it.
Eleven o’clock drew near and so did the beginning of hell. Corporate lunch orders were being faxed in, and take out orders called in, and overall just a lot of food being prepped. It was during this lunch rush that IT happened:
“Kat, there’s a package for you!” I hear my sister yell downstairs where I’m in the basement office I lovingly call the Dungeon, waiting for a new fax order to finish printing.
My heart stood still…I glanced up at her and saw my Dad was not around. Quicker than I thought possible, I raced up the stairs, snatched the box out of her hands, and gave her one quick simple instruction: “You don’t know where I am.”
Just as quickly I was back in the office tearing open the box. I finally got it open, and what I saw took my breath away: the most perfect pair of hiking shoes I have ever seen. My very first pair of dig shoes. I pulled one out and was cradling it in my hands when I heard stirring above and the distinct “Where is your sister?!?” I know so well. Knowing my time was almost out, I made the decision that would haunt me until tonight (if not later…); I tried the shoe on.
It was the perfect fit. The most adorable shoe in the world. The cutest boot imaginable. The absolutely greatest footwear…you get the point. I was in the middle of these musings when the office door slammed open. I will never forget the look on my Dad’s face; so shocked that it couldn’t even register. It’s like the one thing I’ve been raised to know – absolutely, never, in no way, shape, or form, get distracted by anything during a Friday lunch rush. The faxed order was still sitting in the printer; oops.
“Wow, phew! Finally done printing thats great!” I improvised, jetting to my feet. “Ran out of ink, it did” I rambled on, grabbing the sheets and side stepping around him. “Stupid, stupid printer…” I raced up the stairs back into the kitchen. Dropping the orders off to my sister, I resumed my job of making pizza’s. It was then I realized I still had one of my hiking shoes on; and there was absolutely NO WAY I would be making my way downstairs to remedy the situation. Hoping it wasn’t too conspicuous, (wishful thinking since my hiking shoe was twice the size of my work shoe so I’m hobbling around the pizza station) I went about my business for the next 45 minutes or so, avoiding eye contact with my father.
As I finished slicing the last pizza out of the oven, I heard a throat clearing right behind me. Uh oh… I look up to find my father standing behind me with his arms crossed. “In the office, now please,” he said before turning and leading the way. I groaned out loud as my sister pointed and laughed at me from the cash register. I slowly trudged behind him, knowing my sentencing had finally arrived. I walked into the office and dropped wearily into the chair across from my father, head down, waiting for him to start speaking. When he didn’t, I glanced up. His arm was outstretched with his hand held out towards me, as if asking me to hand him something. It took a few seconds to register…my shoe! He wanted my shoe! My expression turned into one of horror as I slowly unlaced my perfect shoe. Slipping it off, I handed it over. Still silent, he meticulously repacked my shoe into its box. He then proceeded to place the box into the storage closet that only he has the key to.
“But Dad!” I started to exclaim but was cut off: “No buts – they stay in there until it is the appropriate time for them to come out. He then locked the door with a resounding click, pocketed the key, and went upstairs.
My new, beautiful, wonderful digging shoes – taken away from me so quickly. I sat for a few moments and stared at the closet – still shocked that he wouldn’t even let me stare at them for the rest of the day. I put on my work shoe again and went back upstairs. The rest of the day passed with mocking grins coming from both my Dad and sister – such cruel punishment.
As I was getting ready to leave tonight after cleaning and closing up the restaurant, my Dad came upstairs with the box in his hands. “Here you go, now you may try them on all you want,” to which everyone started laughing at me. Trust me, I was embarrassed enough to blush profusely but not embarrassed enough to grab the box and jet out the door.
So here I am, at home tonight, staring at my shoes and writing this post (embellished of course with only those types of details an author who was egregiously wronged can write). All I would like to say in sum is that this one goes out to all the Second Sessioner’s: I, too, feel your anxiety, jealousy, and anticipation. Hopefully, your feelings don’t manifest themselves into a situation as ridiculous as the one I lived today.