Sunday, June 09, 2013

The Wonderful Pitfalls of Ethnic Ambiguity

I stopped in to a store on Utica to buy some new shoes.  My old ones were awful.  I got them in Iraq, and they were akin to a Saddam torture camp.  My poor toes suffered in them.

I stopped in the store and heard Quranic music.  I chatted briefly with the Egyptian shop owner.  We spoke of the delicious fish of Alexandria.  His clerk came in, a tall African fellow from Mali.  He smiled big when I told them Nomadic Wax was in Mali.  While he was searching for shoes for me, a few people asked if I worked at the shoe store.

Do you work here?

Haha, no I am just buying shoes.

You really don't work here?

No.

You look like someone who works here.

[smirk] I fit the bill.

Can I see these shoes?

Sorry boss, I really don't work here.

Well, I am gonna leave.  You just lost a sale.

[chortle]

At least two other people asked as well, although not as insistent.  I chatted with the cashier in Arabic about which Middle Eastern country I liked the best.  Morocco, because I spent the most time there and knew it the best.

It did not escape my attention that I found myself leaving a suspicious package at a trashcan on the side of the road.  I cracked the lid so that you could see the only hefetz xashood was my worn out shoes that I was trying to pass on.

PS: by popular demand, mis zapatos


2 comments:

Richmond. said...

Show us the new shoes!

mahoganyjo said...

Hilarious!!!! I think that is a the most beautiful problem ever and yeah- show me some shoes!!!! HA!