It’s getting near that time of year again when parents have to make the dreaded trip to get their kids new shoes for the upcoming school term. Well this Holsworthy Mafia member temporarily lost his fucking mind and decided today was the day he would brave the onslaught of sweat and humanity that his Barnstable high street and take his son to get some new school shoes.
Now I love my son and he a is truly awesome and lovely lad, but he has feet like a circus clown, who met with a yeti and produced little yeti-clowns, with yeti-clown feet. Unfortunately having a yeti-clown footed boy means I have to choose a shoe shop that can cater to children with feet wider that the Dartford tunnel. So after absolutely no deliberation (my ex told me to take him there) I made the visit to Clarks shoes. An experience that can only be described as a cross between a supermarket deli counter and the hunger games.
Upon arriving you are met with a greeter (a smug looking bastard who knows exactly the agony they are about to inflict on you), who promptly gives you a ticket informing you of your place in the queue (a bit like when you buy a nice bit of ham or stilton from the deli counter). This is where things get weird. You look down at your number, then look up to see that amazingly there are only have 7 people in front of you ….. And then time starts to behave strangely (the number on the machine that announces your place in the queue changes about every 2 years or so), the staff seem to all disappear at once and you suddenly realise that you probably should have sold a kidney beforehand to be able to afford your childs footwear.
After realising that the rules of time and space didn’t work in this shop I sat down to wait my turn and quickly adopted my ‘fuck off’ face in case any other parent thought they might like to ‘chat’ to alleviate their own dark thoughts at their current predicament. It didn’t work. Mrs Jolly Mcsixkids decided to engage in conversation about my sons schooling. I politely explained that I was home schooling him in a dungeon and that I believed bringing him up as a Satanist really was best for him (she quickly found a pair of shoes to peruse on the opposite side of the shop) . Whilst this was going on, the 1,849 children in the store were engaged in their own seemingly enjoyable version of the hunger games. Which involved picking up random shoes and placing them as far away from their point of origin as possible, all the while doing something my son assures me is called flossing.
After waiting 672 years my number was finally called and A really nice and friendly assistant (I believe alcohol was involved) came over and asked to measure my sons feet, using a machine that wouldn’t look out of place on Star Trek. It was at this point that my son piped up and said “This is my dads idea of hell” (true story). Apparently he had overheard me talking to my mother earlier in the day as I tried to pawn this experience off onto her. To give the assistant her credit she gave me her blandest smile and carried on scientifically measuring my sons feet, while I looked at my son with slight annoyance and no small amount of pride. After a few quantum calculations a size was finally settled on. She then disappeared again into the blackhole that is the back of Clarks shoes, to reappear 29 years later with a selection of leather footwear for my son to choose from. As any parent knows offering a child a choice is just asking for trouble. Another 161 years later my boy finally picked a pair that looked exactly the same as every other fucking pair she had brought out. After much prodding and squeezing of his feet and a few ceremonial marches up and down the shop it was finally done. I went to the counter to pay and quickly realised that 1 kidney wouldn’t cut it. To afford these leather foot coverings was going to cost me both kidneys and maybe a spleen.
With the transaction done and my wallet resembling a ghost town I left the store as fast as possible, treating my self on the way home to a tasty KFC as compensation for the utter mind numbing horror I had experienced in buying shoes for my lad. Unfortunately this whole process will probably be re enacted in about 3 days time when my sons clown feet decide to go on a mad growth spurt and quickly out grow his body.
I have taken a few things away from todays trip:-
- Amputating your childs feet to avoid shoe shopping is frowned upon by social services (apparently).
- Be prepared to sell body parts if your child has clown feet.
- Clarks really are the best, most hardwearing shoes you can buy for kids.