A calamity of sorts took place not too long ago. We have a handbook at work, but it was never showed to teachers when I was hired. We also have a good and very intelligent new director who has gone about things in a way I highly approve, but has, among other thing, updated the handbook and disseminated it. He’s from England and rather more natty than not—pin stripe suit every day. The calamity is that we have to dress up to teach.
I don’t mind wearing better clothes (though I don’t mind not wearing better clothes), and actually I just have to change two things. One of the changes will be that I can’t wear jeans all the time. I feel less safe on the Transmilenio when wearing other pants because of the way the pockets of jeans are, but that is something I think I can deal with—though prohibiting jeans strikes me as a bit silly, considering the times. The problem, though, is the shoes.
One walks a lot, and I walk quickly when it is not sunny. Besides that, the pavements of Bogota are unpredictable. I’m not awkward or clumsy, but I like to go lithely and dodge about (it is the same sort of thing as driving efficiently and leaving everybody behind, something I just like to do mainly for the leaving everybody else behind part). I hate the idea of having shoes whose main function is to look decorative or uniform. I have shoes I can wear with the new regulations, but they’re my old, brown Dexter deck shoes that have been my fancy shoes for lo these ten years. I hate to have to wear them daily for three reasons: first, they do not grip the foot the way tennis shoes do. Shoes with any little bit of play leave sore feet, and one feels foolish as a result (like people who don’t wear enough clothes in winter ought to). Second, the soles are not really good rubber, like the Adidas, and slide on some pavements. These two combined mean the shoe is not practical for intense walking, can betray a person and will always leave one feeling like a twit, though they’re fine for Sundays. The third reason is that I hate to wear them out as if I don’t appreciate them. They have been very faithful shoes to me and comfortable. How can I just wear them out that way? I hope they stay with me for another ten years—and the nice thing about Bogota is that you can get them resoled easily if you need to.
So I have to buy shoes. What I find happy is that without a great deal of trouble I think I found them. Looks like they’re a sort of modern blend of a tennis shoe and something more dressed up: rubber sole—I hate the notion of a sole that isn’t practical since all it does is bite the dust, and nothing else can be so comfortable, no ostentatious brand showing, and actually cheaper than I thought. Nicely cheap, actually, and because they’re black I can wear them will all five pairs of fancy pants I own. There is a lot of foolishness in shoes nowadays, and ever since reading something where it was suggested the automobile is too often the instrument of displaying an opulent vulgarity (which made a lot of sense) I have taken a dim view of highly polished, shiny shoes as opulent and vulgar like rings and watches often are, so this solution I find exceedingly congenial.
Most congenial, but the best part is that I didn’t have to do any dreaded shopping around. I stopped at a place while charging through downtown, looked them over while the lady spoke on the phone, got the price, liked it, and then told her I’d be back when I had the money. I might go out of my way tomorrow just to pick them up.
Unknowing 