Life & Adventures
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My Respect to Pedestrians in High Heels


I moved from Barcelona to Madrid last August because A. got a good job offer here. I’ve been job searching since then without much luck. Yesterday, I finally had an interview for an account manager spot in an interesting looking company.

Being my first shot of the year, I decided to go with the full corporate look… high heels and all. Sexy underwear (always makes me feel confident), perfectly ironed pants and shirt, neat looking hair-do and makeup… and high heels –which I had to dust off because they had been in a box for 3 years.

Walking to the metro station, I was so proud of myself. I walked as if I owned the sidewalk. I got there 15 minutes early and didn’t even feel the need to sit down while I waited for them to meet with me. After the interview and some written tests, as I left the building full of optimism, I called A. to meet me for lunch. I was in the mood  of celebrating that I was back in the game!

On my way to the metro station, my energetic stride was already losing rythm. The pain was starting to build up from my toes, and I began to perceive how the leather borders rubbed against my skin. I didn’t find a seat in the subway and I was about 6 stations away.

A man gave his seat to a woman with a baby. Two stations away, all I could think of was that there should be reserved seats for women in heels, not only for the pregnant and the elderly. Wouldn’t that be a cool action for a women’s shoe brand? Sponsoring seats in public transport for women wearing high heels? And maybe a foot masseuse. I sure would’ve appreciated it!

When I got to my date with A., I was late and desperate to sit down. I knew I couldn’t take them off, otherwise my feet would swell and I wouldn’t be able to fit them back on. As we ate and caught up with each other’s day, the painful, hot throbs increased. When I stood up to leave, I seriously considered a taxi ride for the 5 blocks I had left. “It’s a waste of money, and you’re not in the position for that right now!”, I said to myself, took a deep breath and forced myself to walk like a normal person.

1st block, trying to walk fast… “the faster you walk, the sooner you’ll be home…”

2nd block, trying to conceal my gawky moves with a fake smile “pain is psychological, women do this every day… don’t be a wimp and learn to live with it!”.

3rd block, walking like Quasimodo and with every step: “ouch…ouch…ouch…”.

4th block, slightly downhill putting all my weight on my toes. Painful numbness. Beating ardor is all I could feel, “do not cry… must not cry…”

Last block! “I’m not gonna make it… I can take them off now, no one will notice…” (saw the sidewalk covered in dog pee, grime and vomit) “tiny steps, focus, tiny steps, keep the rythm going…”

Took them off in front of my building. The freezing touch of the entrance hall’s marble floor in winter… Three storeys of stairs, shoes in hand. And back to their box they went!

Lovely in the mirror, torture to my feet.

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