A STORY I WROTE A YEAR BACK

The Devil Buys Shoes

“You slept at Erica's house? Just the two of you? What the fuck Christian!?”
“What's the big deal?”
“What the fuck do you mean ‘what's the big deal?' How would you like it if I stayed at a guy's house, just me and him?”
“That's different…”
“Why the fuck is that different? Do you have some rights that I don't?”
“I just stayed at her house! What? Do you think we had sex? SEX? You think we FUCKED!?”
“Oh go to hell Christian. I think I'm going to let you get back to your job so I can have a ‘sleep over' at Matt's house. Maybe we'll go down on each other? Who knows?”
“……
… … whatever...”
“Impossible.”

I didn't slam the phone down. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction to think that she could anger me, that fucking bitch.

…

Did I do something wrong? What would I think if she stayed at Matt's house? Oh fuck she's impossible sometimes. I'd never have sex with Erica! Why would she even think that? She doesn't trust me? Great, I'm in a relationship with the fucking girl for 10 months, and she still doesn't trust me. I should be offended that she thinks I'm a dick!

…

Did I take it too far? Why did I say that she couldn't stay at a guy's house? Hmmm…. … maybe that was wrong? Whatever. I'll call and apologize after work today. I shouldn't have acted so dispassionate, that was wrong. I guess I do need to work on communication. After work…
Fucking work. I bet most people have way cooler jobs to put themselves through university. (At least I go to university unlike some.) I have to work at a shoe store. I don't even get paid that well. I started out doing it because my parents know the owner: her husband had just died, and she needed some help. So here I am. I suppose it is great motivation to do well in school and leave this shitty job.

…

Was I in the wrong? I guess I should've at least asked her before I stayed over at Erica's… but we were drunk! We didn't plan that! It wasn't a big deal. She's been my friend for like, 5 years, why should I have to second guess because she's a girl?

…

Well, I suppose I know the rational answer to that, but I have more important things to think about. Things more important than Sara, and things more important that this stupid job. I have a paper due at the end of the week. How in the hell am I going to go about it? It's such a stupid topic. I hate it when the prof gives us a topic, and we can't really change it, you know? Milgrim. It's like I'm doing a 101 paper. Discuss the ethics in the Milgrim experiment. Didn't we already do that? We were all in that lecture hall 3 years ago. What new perspective can I put on it? I wonder if I can incorporate Derrida at all. Incorporating Derrida would put a few things on there head. Or perhaps I could skip that Derrida nonsense and go straight into a neuropsychological paradigm. Or perhaps I could mold Milgrim, Derrida and the neurops-

Fuck, the bells on the door. Oh, great, a customer…
“Good evening Ma'am, how may I help you today?”
“Oh, I'm just looking for now, thank you very much though.”
God. One of the things I'll never understand is women's obsession to look at shoes. They're just shoes for God's sake. Do you need that many pairs? Why not buy books or movies instead? Then you're buying something you can think about. I guess I should be glad that Sara doesn't go shoe shopping all the time. She even doesn't mind it when I talk about Xenogears. You know, she really is quite a cool person…

“Excuse me, but I'm looking to buy large quantities of children's shoes. Is that possible to do here?”
“Uhhhhh … ummm ... you mean like placing an order ma'am?” God, that's so much work, “we usually don't do that here.”
“Oh that's too bad. Hmm... Do you have lots of kid's shoes in the back? The brand doesn't really matter; however, running shoes would be nice. You see, I volunteer at an orphanage, and I thought I'd get the kids some early Christmas presents. They really could use some new shoes for all that running around they do.”
“I'm fairly sure that Super Cheap Shoes does that ma'am. I could give you their address or phone number if you want.”
“Oh I know I could go there, but I hate supporting those big companies, you know? I'd rather support small shops that're locally owned.”
I'm almost speechless for a couple seconds. We don't have any people that buy shoes in a statement against big business very often. It's usually just older people from the community and “hip” young people. God… I don't want to deal with this right now. I was hoping to close the shop early today; did she have to bring this all to me 30 minutes before closing? Time to do the oldest trick in the book (damn, I'm good at my job):
“I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm just a part time worker, I don't have the authority to do special orders. Maybe my boss- the owner- would be able to help you. I'm fairly sure we can't do orders, but I guess it's ultimately her decision. She'll be in tomorrow at 9am.”
“Thank you very much. I'll come back. I hope she can do it. I think it'd be so great to see the look on the kids face when I give them their early-Christmas gift.”
“Have a good night ma'am, thank you for shopping at our store. I hope you come again.”

She's gone. Good. What a crazy woman. Saving the world one orphanage at a time I guess. Maybe she's a child molester and she thinks if she does this she'll be even in some for some flawed sense of karma. I've read about people like that in school.
What a nice gesture though. Early-Christmas? It's bloody May now! I guess that sort of behavior is inspirational. As soon as I finish getting my degree, and maybe my law degree, and get fairly settled into a nice house, I think I'd like to help people like she does. Not to her extent. I won't go all “anti-corporations” or anything… … I wonder if these people even know about the stuff they're against? I wonder if they have any idea at all what the fuck they're talking about? I seriously sometimes think that many people could benefit from taking just a few Psychology courses. Maybe none of that Jung crap, but perhaps something about evolutionary Psychology or neuropsychology. I doubt most people can comprehend Derrida though. I don't understand why Psychology isn't mandatory for all university students. The mind is a…


“Excuse me, sir…”
“Wah!” I flinch a little...
…can you please help me?”
I was taken off guard; I must've been lost in thought again, or something. Somehow this gentleman that looks like he's from the aristocracy in feudal Russia has walked in. I mean, he wasn't wearing a monacle, but he may as well have been. The light brown coloured suit, the simple yet distinguished looking cane, and the top hat for God's sake! His face was amazing too. It was rough, but not leathery, Secure, but not cocky. It's actually kind of funny, he's wearing a handlebar mustache non-ironically, and it seems to work.
“Sir, could you please help me? I think I need your help.”
Fuck! I must've gotten lost in thought again.
“Uhhh… uhhh... yes sir. Sorry about that. What do you need help for sir?”
The man looked at me funny for a second. I wasn't really sure why. I think he was annoyed that I was startled. Whatever, fuck him.
“I need some shoes my good sir. Can you believe it? I bought these shoes just the other day from Super Cheap Shoes, and they've already fallen a part on me. Can you believe it?”
Can you shut up?
“Errr... what kind of shoes are you looking for sir?”
“Please, stop calling me sir. I'm sorry, I called you sir too. My name is Mr. Mendell. How do you do?”
He extends his hand out to me, and presents a strong smile. He appeared to me to be something out of the 18th century, and while at first I found it annoying, I think it's a little charming now. Or at least it's a humorous story to tell Sara later. She loves stories like that.
“Christian sir,” I shake his hand, “it's a pleasure to meet you.”
“That's more like it. We're not savages you know. At least I'm not. Can't stand people without manners, you know? Like women.”
Sexist pig. I hate fuckers like that.
“Ha-ha-ha, ummm… so what do you need si- I mean, Mr. Mendell?”
“Oh I'm sorry. I know it's all wrong to say women have no manners, but seriously now. They're such emotional beings, you know? I'm sorry; I'll stop talking about it. You don't care about that. I'm sure you know very nice women. Perhaps you're of a better time. I must sound like a dinosaur to you. My time was a lot more defined I believe.”
He's obviously never met Sara. Now she's a rational being…. well, except for today. I wonder what's wrong with her today. Her fucking emotions are running wild.
“Are you religious?”
Am I religious? Where did that come from? Why is he giving me this slight smile? I think I'm beginning to figure this guy out. He's just some lonely fucker that hates women, loves Jesus, and wants someone to talk to. I love fucking with people like this. I bet I'll be yelling “SATAN!” in a few minutes. I bet that'd freak him out. Fuck this dinosaur.
“Actually, I don't believe in God… sir.”
“Oh, shall I pray for you? Do you think that would help?”
These religion fuckers really know how to push all my buttons. God, who the hell is this guy? I guess I should just focus on my job. I have to remember that this is a story Sara will love. I just have to keep telling myself that and enjoy this for what it really is.
“Maybe if it was to the Dark Lord, sir, I hear he's a nice little chap.”
Silence. An amazing silence. It's tense though. I must've disgusted him. Religious types don't like talking about the Devil unless they're doing it to scare themselves into submission. I would know. I took a Psychology of Religion course last semester.
“Hmm… I see you think like a woman. I shall stop talking to you about intellectual matters; I apologize for bringing them up. I suppose we should get back to my shoes. I apologize for treating you like a… a person capable of rational thought.”
…

…

I'm a woman? Is that supposed to be an insult? He thinks I'm like Sara? He calls me emotional? What the fuck?
“Oh, I apologize good sir, for I didn't mean any offense. I should've realized being the type of person you are you'd take that to heart, and not be able to think about it. I'm looking for a nice loafer. Here, that one on the top shelf over there looks nice. Would you show it to me?”
There's no reason to get mad. There's no reason to get mad. Fuck, what a fucker. There's no reason to get mad. I'll show this sexist, asshole, fuck the shoes, he can buy them, or not- I don't give a shit- and then he'll leave.
I walked over to the shoes, and got them for him, and he tried them on.
“Hmmm... they seem like a good fit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be harsh to you... you're a good shoe salesman. I'm sure you've got the brains to maybe one day own your own shoe store.”
“I'm actually going to University sir.”
“Oh! How splendid! I love University, I have a few degrees myself. Although one's in Psychology, so it doesn't really count. Isn't it funny how it pretends to be a science? What's your major in, if you don't mind my asking?”
“Actually, psychology sir, I find that…”
“Oh wow, I bet your girlfriend wanted you to, right? Boyfriend perhaps? Eh?” (Is he attempting to call me gay as an insult? Bloody homoph-
“Why not try a real science?”
I can't believe this guy.
“Sir, do you want the shoes or not.”
“Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I just think learning science is important, you know? We in the Catholic Church put it in the highest importance. I'm sorry for taking up your time with my nonsense. I really am.”
“DO YOU-! *ahem*, sorry sir. Do you want these shoes or not?”
“Oh sorry. Sorry my good lad. My good shoe salesman. Yes. They're great shoes. I love them so much. It looks like they were made by a man. I like that. You know? Maybe in 20 years I'll wear shoes made by you. Oh wait. Sorry my good boy. I forgot. University. Good luck with psychology sir, I'm sorry that I've realized that it's a flawed field.”
We walk to the counter.
“That'll be $65.12 sir.”
“Thank you, here you are.”
“Have a good day sir.”
“Thank you very much.”
That fucker finally went to the door, and as he was about to leave, he turned around and said. “Peace be with you. May God look down on you and save your soul from damnation.”
He left. He finally left.
I'm so flustered. I'm so fucking frustrated. I'm emotional? Fuck him! Did he know what paper I'm writing tonight? I'm a fucking rational being! I'm not some fucking… some fucking girl for fuck's sake”

Just then I heard the telephone ring. It picked it up and it was Sara.
“Hey, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. Maybe I overreacted about the whole Erica thing…”
“Maybe you overreacted? There's a fucking understatement. Are you capable of thinking clearly?”
“Hey… no… w-wait… I'm trying to apolog-..”
“Fuck you! Maybe I have a lot on my mind? You ever think of that? Maybe I don't like the path we're going down. I don't want to be some fucking emotional wimp, like you're turning me into with your crap.”
“E-excuse me? I said I'm sorr…”
“I don't care! Fuck off! Leave me alone! God! Stupid woman…”
She hung up. Good. Fuck her. I have a paper to write. I don't need her to annoy me anymore.

(comments: Mostly influenced by The Screwtape Letters by CS Lewis, and The Master and the Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov, although I'm not pretending it's nearly as good as either. When I reread it, I saw some parts that seemed like bad Salinger, so maybe it's influenced by him aswell.

I know it's not the best story (and I know that's putting it nicely). I wrote it as an excercise and as a first short story to write in a long long time. I didn't write it in any effort to be published, or thought of as a good writer, only that I think I like expressing ideas in fiction. Whatever)