I noticed, as I was logging in, the Ads by Google advertising “University of Foreign Relations”. I bet they get tons of hits for the wrong reason *chuckle*.
It has been said, many a time, that a man’s character will be judged by his shoes. No more is that true than in China. I often notice people glance at my shoes as they walk past, scoffing. I wonder what they’re thinking. I love my banged-up Timberlands, because they have taken me places and withstood the tests, but they’re moving on in years and no self respectable foreign teacher should make himself guilty of tarnishing his image with a pair of scruff trainers.
I have these other dress-shoe, stollen-from-Big-Foot, black shoes, which, in my classes at least, always cause a stir. The little kids will run up and measure it with rulers (of which your standard 30cm ones are too short) and the bigger kids would just make discreet comments, being polite as the Chinese are, like “Wow!” or “Oh my god! Look at the size of his shoes”.
I have taken to wearing the dress shoes all the time now, after the other night I went out with Linda and Dorris and ducked into a shoe shop, Linda said as she pointed at the men’s dress shoes “Oh, I could’t imagine you in those, because you’re always wearing your sneakers”.
Ha! If ever there was an obvious reverse-psycology ploy, this was it. Alas, that is what my mother used to say too, so having confirmed it from several sources, I believe it. The shoes make the man.
So, the next day I started wearing the black shoes and immediatey felt more comfortable about people staring down at my feet. They’re not dainty dress shoes, with fine details and thin, lacey laces. No, they’re big, black and mean with thick, strappy slaces. A man’s shoe.
In Shiyan however, even the most manly of men’s shoes will get a coat of dust faster than you can say “constant-hazardous-emmissions-from-your-friendly-neighbourhood-coal-based-power-plant.” As terrible as that is, it is yet another ingenius opportunity for employment. You see, on any given street you will find 3 or 4 (usually) older women sitting on small stools, in front of plastic garden chairs equipped with two small blocks of wood and a tiny, magic chest crammed with Tools ‘o Trade.
They are Polishers and for a mere 2 Yuan (haggle if you deem their effort worth less), they will, in 5 minutes or less, find the new in your shoes. I’ve been using my shoes frequently and the other afternoon quickly swept The King and I’s balcony in them too. That alone coated it with a layer of dust which no brush alone could rid it of. I even wiped it with a rag to no avail.
Near The Restaurant, a place I frequent ever more frequently, is a gang of three elderly ladies. A regular Larry, Curly and Moe as they’re always trying to pie-face me into sitting down. They’re a bunch of characters. The one is a sun-burnt (where she gets the sun is her secret alone) nearly-toothless fairy with wild hair and a loud voice. Her friends include the cross-eyed lady and second lady who’s so normal I now can’t even remember what she looks like.
They always laugh and cackle when I walk past and shout things in Chinese whilst waving and pointing and inviting me to sit down. I always have a reason not to sit down. Too cold, too busy, in too much off a hurry, etc. But today as I walked past, typing and SMS and needing to pause anyway, they again jeered and cackled and I thought, what the hey! And sat down. They cheered and applauded. I felt like a greatly valued client. Then The Nearly-Toothless Fairy dropped her head, flipped open the lid of her little toolbox and went to work.
She produced an impressive array of tubes, brushes, lotions and spunges and I thought “geez, a shoe-shine or a deep-penetrating exfoliation?”. She applied first a white, followed by a black, coloured paste, scrubbed the shoes with various brushes, then applied what must have been some waxy substance (as I later accidentally spilled a drop of water on my shoe and it ricochetted of the shoe like a Teflon bullet off a Kevlar vest) and then she buffed it with the vigor of a 20 year old.
Needless to say, the shoes are blacker than when I bought them with a shine that will make Rudolph blush. I noticed various impressed glances from other passers by too, young and old, male and female. So it was a 2 yuan well spent.
The Fairy wanted only 1 yuan, obviously she thought I didn’t sit down before because the 2 yuan was too much of a finacial burden. So I gave her 2 yuan anyway and judging by her reaction I thought I accidentally gave her a 100 yuan note.
So as they cackled and cheered, I walked off into the distance, kicking up dust as I went. They laughed, I know, because they knew that before the new dawn breaks, my shoes will need yet another polish.
Talk about a sustainable enterprise.