From: Edward A. Parr Subject: Barefoot...inna Suit! Date: Aug 1995 [exact date not known] You may remember I've said in the past that I always feel a right twit (that's *twit*) going barefoot in my work clothes, ie suit 'n' tie? Well, maybe some of you don't remember, but it doesn't change the fact that I said it - now stop arguing and let me get on with this...stop fidgeting in the back there. Well, things have been changing a bit lately. Having got aggravated by a colleague who grassed me up a while ago (to no avail), I've been cultivating a footwear-free reputation while in the office. Aided by a recent hot-spell (hot for the UK, anyway; Winter conditions for Florida, I'm told), I've been extending this to the outdoors on an experimental basis - after all, Chesterfield folk don't get to see many bare feet on a day-to-day basis, let alone bare feet in a suit, so I was interested both in the response of other people and in whether or not I could get over my hang-ups about *not* being dressed, y'know, casual-like. I don't have a problem with barefooting out of hours (as it were), including around town, but I'm always self-conscious about it when I'm togged up. So, first thing was to "practice" indoors. Going boldly barefoot (where no one has gone barefoot before) is largely a psychological step anyway, so the first thing was to get used to myself barefoot while in my suit. This involved shedding the old footwear when in the office by myself and generally wandering about the place...y'know, Without Any Shoes On. When I was comfortable with this, I started subjecting my colleagues to the new look. They're all used to ("resigned to" might be a better phrase) my bare feet when I'm in jeans, but office hours were a different matter. To my surprise, no one batted an eyelid. There has been the odd joking remark, and repeated renditions of Lesley Layton's Famous Verucca Story (don't ask - it's not pretty) but the response was better than I expected (though I'm always careful around the senior boss and any of those funny visitors we get for mysterious meetings - well, some people witter about the simplest things and, besides, it's not a good idea to frighten the engineers!) Next step, then, was the great outdoors! Initially, I stuck to the short walks between the car park and work and the stroll from work to the Yellow Lion (the barefoot-friendly pub) at lunchtimes. This, too went well and, after a few barefoot lunches (including a couple under the watchful, but unblinking, eye of the senior boss), I decided it was time to do this properly. First, though, I tried out my new-found confidence in a different pub just outside Chesterfield. Three of us took the trip and I had to drive, so no hope of Dutch courage from the whisky bottle. There's no point going into detail - suffice to say they let me in, served me, accepted my money, let me eat with the rest of the customers on the veranda overlooking the lake and even let me back in (!!!) when it started to rain. The only comment I got was on the way out when a middle-aged lady customer smiled at me and asked if my feet hurt? This was odd, seeing as I was *indoors* on carpet at the time, but I assured her of my confidence and experience in these matters ;-)= So, one afternoon last week I decided it was time for my first full- scale shopping lunchtime in Chesterfield town centre, with suit, without shoes. I must admit, I approached the trip with a little trepdiation. I've *never* been refused service in a shop on the grounds that my feet were not out of sight, so I wasn't worried about being banned. It was just the fact that I was *wearing a suit*. I mean, it's just not *done*. Let's face it ... it's, well, *weird*. Still, weirdness is in the eye of the beholder and, in the interests of redefining the term, I stepped boldly out pausing only to consume a couple of pints of Ruddles County at the Yellow Lion (don't look at me like that; sometimes resolve is not enough ;-)= ) It was a hot day (for us, anyway - well into the 80s) and the first thing was to put the shoes *on* to get outside under senior boss's nose (well, he's got a lot of other things to worry about right now, so why add to 'em?). Once outside, off with footwear - aah, the warm pavement under bare feet ... wonderful. Once across the main road, there is a choice between the cobbled one way road or the pavement down to the market square. I picked the cobbles and kept an eye out for traffic I was carrying my shoes (actually yachting-type shoes; I've started wearing these lately 'cos they are light to carry and maybe slightly less unacceptable than the trainers I've worn to work for the last 9 months) so it was patently obvious to passers-by that there was something amiss with my attire. No one made any remark. No one looked at me as if I was mad. Two men in smart ties and pristine suits (I *never* look smart or pristine in a suit - must be a lifestyle thing) passed within inches of me and *did not look at my feet*. It was market day (I forget which one - we have so many) so the square was packed with stalls and sweating shoppers. "Gods help the tomatoes" I thought, not unnaturally. The square is cobbled, too, but the cobbles are bigger than those on the road while being just as much fun - like walking on stepping stones only closer together. They're also *much* nicer than asphalt or concrete, especially in hot weather. Everyone was too busy to notice my bare feet. One woman with her husband was standing at one end of an aisle of stalls and saying "I can walk down this one - it's not cobbled". Sure enough, it was flagged and she was wearing high heels (!). I resisted the urge to suggest that she take off her shoes, on the grounds that she would probably have sprained her ankle while running away. I didn't want anything from the market, but Paul, who was accompanying me (a former barefooter defeated by...er...that thing to do with blood sugar...what's it called...buggered if I can remember...mind's gone blank...starts with A...or is it S...you know what I mean), needed something obscure from Boots (the Chemist and then some) so we carried on through. We used the stairs instead of the escalator. This was *not* because escalators are a problem to bare feet. In fact, I've used escalators lots of times and there is no reason to be any more wary than when shod (except it would be a *really* bad idea to get your toes caught at the end - in fact, it's probably a once-in-a-lifetime experience). In fact, my main worry when using escalators is that someone is going to tell me I have to wear shoes - not that anyone ever has :-)= Part of the reason we took the stairs is they were nearer. Partly, it was because I believe bare feet are for walking, not riding. Mostly it was because the escalator is the "Down" variety and we were going Up! While I waited for Paul, I browsed the videos and generally stood around, looking very much like a man in a suit with no shoes on. No other customers gave me a second glance. The assistants bustling past did not pass any remark. I reflected on the floor tiles (I probably reflected *in* them as well, them being polished an' all) which, while smooth and quite pleasant to walk on, are *very* uninteresting. Before we left, I remembered some photos I had to collect. The assistant took my money and handed over the photographs without requiring that I wear shoes or (as far as I could ascertain) charging me extra. Next stop was John Menzies in the Pavements precinct. This is one of those covered-in shopping complexes - Malls as I believe Americans call them, though this one would be more correctly referred to as a small hammer (or Mallette) by trans-Atlantic standards. There are signs at the entrances stating "No Dogs" in bold symbols. This may be because dogs always go around barefoot but, if so, it hasn't occurred to anyone that humans might do the same. As I've mentioned before, "No Bare Feet"-type signs are extremely rare in the UK. Rarer than bare feet, in fact. A couple of customers noticed my bare feet but just gave a quick look. I browsed the magazine racks but, to my astonishment, failed to find any magazines on "Barefoot Hiking". I bought a couple of comics (before anyone asks, don't - anyone who can go into a shop barefoot while wearing a suit and a very tasteful tie can bloody well buy comics as well) and came to the attention of the assistant at the cash-out. She sort of half-peered over the counter and smiled at me but made no remark. I wandered into the video department past the watchful gaze of the rather large gentleman who seems to be paid to watch people go in and out of the video department. He did not attempt to call the manager. Maybe he sees barefoot men in suits, buying Star Trek:Voyager videos, every day. We then went back outside and headed through the back streets as a shortcut to Wilkinson's (or Wilco's as it is affectionately known) - for a flowerpot, since you ask. I was a bit worried about this one. Normally, my shoes are either not present or out of sight in a bag when I go into this shop barefoot but the Menzies bag wasn't up to the task. Wilco's is a fairly large general-purpose sort of shop which sometimes sells esoteric things like footwear, eg flip-flops, deck shoes, etc. It occurred to me that someone might ask me to pay for my shoes on the way out. However, it also occurred to me that, under the circumstances, this would be *very* easy to sort out so I went in anyway. What I really like about Wilco's is the floor. Like Boots, it's tiled and smooth but they don't sweep and polish it so often (either that or they get a *lot* more customers - which, on reflection, is probably the case). Whatever the reason, it's always *very* dusty, almost gritty, and really pleasant to walk on. Incidentally, like Boots they also have a staircase and an escalator. The escalator only goes Up. As far as I know, the stairs go both ways - allegedly at the same time which probably means stairs are more cost-effective than escalators. Progress! Who needs it? I got my flowerpot and milled around trying to decide which queue at the tills was moving fastest. Then I saw one near the door with only three people waiting so I dashed across (taking care to avoid the piles of broken glass and discarded drawing pins which, as we all know, almost completely cover the floors of all shops everywhere ). While I was waiting, the two people immediately ahead of me (a couple in late middle-age) kept looking at me and whispering to each other. I shuffled a bit and pretended not to notice while I waited for The Question or, worse, The Remark. The woman at the head of the queue finished paying and left. The couple moved forward, still looking and muttering. There was a delay while the shop assistant got some change for her till. I waited. The assistant finished re-stocking the till, turned to the couple - and then ... it *Happened*. The woman looked at me, looked at my flowerpot (it was brown and pot-shaped and not, by any stretch of the imagination, peculiar), looked at her "husband", looked at the assistant and said: "You'd better serve this gentleman first - he's only got one item and we've got a basketful". This was a bit unexpected! I thanked them both and took my place at the till. The assistant took my money and told me the pot wouldn't fit in a bag. I said, "That's alright, but I could do with a bag for these" and held up my shoes. She smiled pleasantly at me and gave me the bag. I left and met Paul outside. There was no sign of pursuit. We walked along the taxi rank getting odd looks from taxi drivers (but then, *everyone* gets odd looks from taxi drivers unless they want a taxi, in which case they get pitying looks), down a cobbled alley and across a terrifically unpaved car park. This used to have something built on it and I'm sure whoever cleared the site worked on the principle that rubble is big lumps and left anything less than two inches across. It is, however, fun to walk on :- )= and a welcome relief from the hot asphalt of the previous street. The Man-Who- Checks-The-Tickets wondered past, sweating in his uniform. He didn't pay any attention to my feet, perhaps because he wouldn't know what to charge me for walking barefoot across a council car park. Our destination was the comic shop - not an overstuffed newsagent like Menzies, but the Real Thing, ie small, slightly grubby, bars on the window, full of comics and related paraphernalia and, most importantly, frequented by weirdos. It also has a nice 'n' dusty tiled floor. The owner is (mostly) Australian and is perfectly happy to allow me in barefoot. Besides, I'm a good customer. We chatted for a while, he commented on my feet, we left. Nothing odd there. The only other stop was at a pet shop. Again, I frequent this place barefoot; the owners don't mind, as long as I don't scare the animals. Then back to work and shoes on for the ascent to our office on the third floor so as not to scare engineers on the way up. So that was it. A lunchtime shopping trip in Chesterfield barefoot...inna suit. What did I learn from this? Not much. I got less reaction than I expected, but I don't get much anyway. It was *very* hot, of course. So that might have been part of it. I was wearing a suit, which might have meant people didn't look at my feet - the suit defined the whole me and that was all they saw. On reflection, I carried my jacket over my shoulder so my BT identity card and mobile 'phone were visible on my belt. Maybe that served to define my existence still further as Not Barefoot, despite the visible evidence. Whatever else it did, it helped me get a bit more comfortable, psychologically speaking, with barefooting. The suit was kind of my last bastion of habitual shoe-wearing and I've broken it down. That doesn't mean I'll always be barefoot when I'm in a suit. I still have to work for a living (sort of) and it remains a bit unnerving. But it *is* a bloody good feeling :-)= -- Edward A. Parr **************************** Rebel Soles are Dirty Soles! ****************************