nathaniel ogden kidd (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} bland_hyssop) wrote,@ 2006-06-04 14:46:00 |
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Feet: 1 ... World: 0
This time, I was ready.
It happened in the Albertsons, the one at the intersection of Highway 115 and Cheyenne Boulevard in the south side of Colorado Springs. My mother and I stopped by to do some quick shopping after church.
“Do you want to come in with me, or are you going to wait in the car?” she asked.
“I’ll come in, but I might get kicked out,” I replied. Usually I carry a “just in case” pair of shoes, if there’s any question, but I can’t remember the last time I wore shoes to the IAC. I didn’t bother to pick them up this morning.
The pavement was a good temperature today, giving my soles that comfortably warm sensation that is one of the basic joys of being human. How good it is to walk on God’s green earth, and Man’s black dreams!
I think that Albertson coolers are angled toward the ground. Their tiles seem a lot cooler than Safeway’s, but perhaps I spent more time barefoot in Albertsons today than I ever have in Safeway. I would call it “cucumber cool” – it felt kind of like I was sticking my feet into the vegetable drawer of a refrigerator. The temperature was just slightly below comfortable.
“Oh,” said my mother as she grabbed a box of Chili Macaroni Hamburger Helper, “you just got a look.”
I hadn’t noticed. I’m not really conscious of when people are looking at me; perhaps that’s why I dress so oddly. Or perhaps I don’t notice other’s glances because I get so many of them. But while I didn’t really care what other shoppers were thinking of me, I was acutely aware of the employees—where they were, what they were doing. I felt a bit fidgety around them.
We had just passed the bakery when it happened. My mother was fondling a packet of ham, while I was looking intently at a container of beef bologna. They came up behind us (they always seem to come from behind); a tall, white man with glasses, reddish-brown hair, and a beard with a dark, stocky, goateed fellow wearing a butcher’s apron on his left side.
“Excuse me, sir,” the tall one said as they approached, “I’m going to have to ask you to either put some shoes on, or leave the store.”
The adrenaline hit me like a hammer. I looked at his name tag. I didn’t catch his name was, but I did notice that his title was “Grocery Manager.” He definitely had the authority to kick me out. I looked at the guy he brought with him. He definitely had the muscle to throw me out. My heart skipped a beat.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, “I didn’t see a sign or anything…”
“We don’t have one,” the manager said, quickly, “but it’s a Health Department regulation…”
“Actually,” I said, “it’s not. Here, I carry this just in case.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the letter from the Colorado Department of Health that I printed off the day before. “I suppose it is your discretion if you want to kick me out, but…”
“Well how about that,” the guy said, skimming over the note. “I guess you can stay for today, since we don’t have a policy. But tomorrow, I’m putting up a sign.”
My mom jumped in. “What that comes to,” she said coolly, “is discrimination. You just assume that the person who comes in with bare feet is homeless, dirty, a hippie, the kind of person you don’t want in your store. If it’s not against the law, what right do you have to make arbitrary distinctions like that? I mean, I don’t approve of his bare feet either, but if it’s not against the law, oh well, let him do what he wants.”
“He’s dressed pretty well,” the stocky guy threw in, with a quick, good natured laugh.
The guy nodded, and kind of scratched his head. “Well…I seem to remember something about a corporate policy…It’s a liability issue, you know, ‘cause if you were to come in here and step on something, we could get sued.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, “There’s a good discussion of this on Barefooters.org, if you want to check it out.”
The guy nodded. “Well, great. I learned something. I didn’t mean to come over here and cause a stir or anything…it’s just…a customer complained, and I had to do something about it. Thank you guys,” he said. He and his buddy turned and walked quickly away.
It wasn’t all that unpleasant. I remained shaky the adrenaline for a while, but other than that, I walked away feeling pretty good. And, as a bonus, my mother and I had an excellent conversation about barefootedness, law, discrimination, and writing.
I find myself at a juncture where I need to put some more thought and prayer into my barefoot philosophy and theology. My mother is not excited about ending up in many more engagements like this, and I don’t want to punish my friends by getting kicked out of establishments because of my choice of footwear. At the same time, a serious call from God is serious business; it’s not something to be taken lightly. If God has called me to be discalced, I can’t just go shoeless when it’s particularly convenient, or when I am in a fighting mood, but I have to have an understanding of and consistency with my calling. Perhaps I will never completely develop this philosophy, but I no longer have the right to completely ignore the question.
Next time, I will be ready.
This time, I was ready.
It happened in the Albertsons, the one at the intersection of Highway 115 and Cheyenne Boulevard in the south side of Colorado Springs. My mother and I stopped by to do some quick shopping after church.
“Do you want to come in with me, or are you going to wait in the car?” she asked.
“I’ll come in, but I might get kicked out,” I replied. Usually I carry a “just in case” pair of shoes, if there’s any question, but I can’t remember the last time I wore shoes to the IAC. I didn’t bother to pick them up this morning.
The pavement was a good temperature today, giving my soles that comfortably warm sensation that is one of the basic joys of being human. How good it is to walk on God’s green earth, and Man’s black dreams!
I think that Albertson coolers are angled toward the ground. Their tiles seem a lot cooler than Safeway’s, but perhaps I spent more time barefoot in Albertsons today than I ever have in Safeway. I would call it “cucumber cool” – it felt kind of like I was sticking my feet into the vegetable drawer of a refrigerator. The temperature was just slightly below comfortable.
“Oh,” said my mother as she grabbed a box of Chili Macaroni Hamburger Helper, “you just got a look.”
I hadn’t noticed. I’m not really conscious of when people are looking at me; perhaps that’s why I dress so oddly. Or perhaps I don’t notice other’s glances because I get so many of them. But while I didn’t really care what other shoppers were thinking of me, I was acutely aware of the employees—where they were, what they were doing. I felt a bit fidgety around them.
We had just passed the bakery when it happened. My mother was fondling a packet of ham, while I was looking intently at a container of beef bologna. They came up behind us (they always seem to come from behind); a tall, white man with glasses, reddish-brown hair, and a beard with a dark, stocky, goateed fellow wearing a butcher’s apron on his left side.
“Excuse me, sir,” the tall one said as they approached, “I’m going to have to ask you to either put some shoes on, or leave the store.”
The adrenaline hit me like a hammer. I looked at his name tag. I didn’t catch his name was, but I did notice that his title was “Grocery Manager.” He definitely had the authority to kick me out. I looked at the guy he brought with him. He definitely had the muscle to throw me out. My heart skipped a beat.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, “I didn’t see a sign or anything…”
“We don’t have one,” the manager said, quickly, “but it’s a Health Department regulation…”
“Actually,” I said, “it’s not. Here, I carry this just in case.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the letter from the Colorado Department of Health that I printed off the day before. “I suppose it is your discretion if you want to kick me out, but…”
“Well how about that,” the guy said, skimming over the note. “I guess you can stay for today, since we don’t have a policy. But tomorrow, I’m putting up a sign.”
My mom jumped in. “What that comes to,” she said coolly, “is discrimination. You just assume that the person who comes in with bare feet is homeless, dirty, a hippie, the kind of person you don’t want in your store. If it’s not against the law, what right do you have to make arbitrary distinctions like that? I mean, I don’t approve of his bare feet either, but if it’s not against the law, oh well, let him do what he wants.”
“He’s dressed pretty well,” the stocky guy threw in, with a quick, good natured laugh.
The guy nodded, and kind of scratched his head. “Well…I seem to remember something about a corporate policy…It’s a liability issue, you know, ‘cause if you were to come in here and step on something, we could get sued.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, “There’s a good discussion of this on Barefooters.org, if you want to check it out.”
The guy nodded. “Well, great. I learned something. I didn’t mean to come over here and cause a stir or anything…it’s just…a customer complained, and I had to do something about it. Thank you guys,” he said. He and his buddy turned and walked quickly away.
It wasn’t all that unpleasant. I remained shaky the adrenaline for a while, but other than that, I walked away feeling pretty good. And, as a bonus, my mother and I had an excellent conversation about barefootedness, law, discrimination, and writing.
I find myself at a juncture where I need to put some more thought and prayer into my barefoot philosophy and theology. My mother is not excited about ending up in many more engagements like this, and I don’t want to punish my friends by getting kicked out of establishments because of my choice of footwear. At the same time, a serious call from God is serious business; it’s not something to be taken lightly. If God has called me to be discalced, I can’t just go shoeless when it’s particularly convenient, or when I am in a fighting mood, but I have to have an understanding of and consistency with my calling. Perhaps I will never completely develop this philosophy, but I no longer have the right to completely ignore the question.
Next time, I will be ready.
