Lost In The Foothills Of My Pride

The more you know about the velocity of a particle, the less you can possibly know about its position:
Today we witnessed the death of an era. A golden age has passed. We are mourning the departure of an epoch unrivalled in human history.

Something special was lost today and I’m not talking about something hokey and contrived like the Age of Aquarius. No, the Age of Aquarius as we all know was created by the Commie Nazis in conjuction with the saucer people to sell greeting cards, babies and greeting cards about greeting cards and babies getting sold.

Today saw the death of a very special pair of shoes.

The Past:
Back about two years ago while rummaging in my garage for greeting cards I came across a pair of shoes. They were a pair of Adidas skate shoes. They were perched ever so gracefully on some books that happened to be in the garage.

At around this time I needed a new pair of shoes as my Chuck Taylor All-Stars had gone the way of the dodo. Thinking to myself that I could use these as a temporary replacement until I bought a new pair of shoes I picked them up and took them home.

Now the shoes themselves we’re a blessing and a curse. On one hand, they were free. On the other hand, they were about one and a half sizes too big.

Shortly after after having picked up the shoes, I did actually go out and buy a new pair of shoes (again (a pair of Chuck Taylor All-Stars (powder blue in colour (as opposed to the traditional black (that I usually wore))))). This meant that the Garage Shoes got little use and for a while were neglected. However, some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend…legend became myth, until about a year later when my latest pair of shoes fell apart.

This meant that I had to begin wearing the Garage Shoes with greater frequency. Increased exposure led to a barage of questions: ‘Are they new shoes?’; ‘when did you get those?’; ‘what is the deal with those shoes?’. A standard reply was used, ‘dunno, found them in the garage’.

And so, a myth began to grow about these shoes, these legendary shoes that had magically appeared in my garage. At first I suspected that shoe fairies had deposited them there for me to find. This was, perhaps, a little incredulous as I knew that most shoe fairies had died during the fall of the Republic of Biafra.

It has been said that once you trade magic for fact there can be no tradebacks. As knowledge is wont to do, I discovered that there was a logical explanation for the appearance of the Garage Shoes.

The Present:
With the increased usage of these shoes so came the aforementioned increased exposure. One of the people who noted that I was wearing the shoes was able to give me an explanation for both their existence and for how they came to reside in my garage. That person was my brother.

It turns out that a friend of my brother's had bought these shoes. This friend, however, found the shoes to be so uncomfortable that they would give him a migraine. Tis migrane was, in turn, so powerful that direct exposure to sunlight would cause him to weep like a baby.

And in an attempt to rid himself of these demon shoes, they were passed on to my brother. My brother, who had recently bought a used Celica, decided that the shoes would better serve him if he wore them while fixing the car. For six months these shoes toiled in virtual anonimity, sucking up the grease, oil and frustrations that my brother heaped on a recalcitrant car.

Having learnt this, the shoes were immediately dubbed the Grease Monkey Shoes. The mystery that surrounded this pair of shoes had slowly melted away like an icecube in a sink.

For nearly a year I wore these shoes. Having lost both my jobs at K-Mart and Woolworthes, the purchase of a new pair of shoes was impossible. Each day saw these shoes die just a little more. Towards the end of their life, they were literally being held together by a few threads, a prayer and some well wishes.

It was time that the last bastion of footwear that I could afford, ‘old faithful’, was retired.

The Future or "Now if you're sad and you're feeling blue, go out and buy a brand new pair of shoes":
Well, today was the day. Today, after much nagging from both my parents and my brother it was decided that I had to buy a new pair of shoes. According to my mother (the most insistent of all involved in the insurrection against the Grease Monkey Shoes) I could step on a syringe or die or something.

Today I went with my brother and yet another his friends (the man's a darling) to Burwood where the area was canvassed for shoe stores. It was a tense period because at every shop where I tried on a new pair of shoes the stress of taking off and putting on the Grease Monkey Shoes made them tear just a little bit more.

Eventually a pair of shoes were found and purchased and with a tear I bid the Grease Monkey Shoes, these beautiful stalwarts of shoeware, farewell. However, if you are thinking that I threw them out, then you would be mistaken.

Twice a year, my friends and I go on a holiday. There, at the beach at Vincentia, I plan to give these shoes a viking funeral. There surrounded by my friends I will reminisce, I will cry and, knowing me, I will hotly debate exactly what these shoes meant to me.

It has been said that a life should be measured not by gain but by giving. Well, Grease Monkey Shoes, I salute you, for you are a better man than I. Requiescat in pace.

Incidentally, my new shoes came with a spare pair of shoe laces, I can only assume that I am meant to hang myself with them.

Accordingly.

Published on Sunday, 20 October 2002