busted

There's a little shoe shine/shoe repair shop right by the train stop I disembark from every morning. I've walked by it almost every weekday for almost two years. Today, I actually went inside for the first time. My mission: to see if they could repair a beloved pair of boots whose zipper has lost their way.

This, my friends, is momentous. See, in years of old, I would have simply discarded the boots and bought new ones. It was hard to justify in this instance, however, because the boots are relatively unscathed, save the errant zipper. And I really like them. I am trying to be more "green." You know: reuse, recycle, some-other-"r"-I-can't-remember...? So I figured why discard when I can repair?

There was this darling little man behind the counter, who treated my patent leather stiletto boot as if it was an objet d'art [...I sort of agree...] He picked it up so gently, turned it around, thumbed over the zipper, nodded appraisingly... And declared it would be no problem to fix before Thanksgiving [What, you don't wear stilettos to Turkey Dinner?]

I smiled appreciatively, my heart filled with warmth at the ease of this transaction and the vision of my soon-to-be-just-like-new-boot.

Till he said, "Thirty dollars."

Wh-what?! He was joking, right? Thirty bucks for a new zipper?! Mother effer.

For thirty dollars, I could do some damage at DSW! For thirty dollars, I could make a whole new boot myself.

Oy.

Too bad I like those boots... I honestly stood there for a moment. Paralyzed. Looking at my reflection in the beautiful patent leather...

"O-kay..." I said tentatively. It's just $30, right?

Next time, however, I'm just gonna discard, demand new, and say damn it. That's my three letter resolution. I never was very "green" anyway.