A few weeks ago, I spent five days in Las Vegas at a "business conference". In keeping with the generally accepted amnesiatic social convention of letting things that happen in Vegas stay in Vegas, I won't tell you everything I did there, but there was one notable activity which I would like to share with you.
Vegas is a city where you don't need any excuses to do something risky with your money or your life. You can get married at 1AM to a stranger you just met a 12AM or blow all your money on craps or roulette, then mortgage your house or hock your car to get in on a game of high stakes poker. All manner of illogical, destructive, and risk-laden activity is expected and excused if it happens in Vegas... and the best part is, you can do all these things, then go back home and say "I attended a business conference in Vegas". No further explanation or details need to be provided. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
Anyway, as I said before, a few weeks back "I attended a business conference in Vegas". During the conference, I did something which I have rarely done in my adult life, and haven't done at all in probably thirty years or more.
I got a shoe shine.
The shoe shine stand, tucked away in a side hallway, caught my attention as I was leaving the conference center. It was attended by a petite, immaculately groomed, middle aged man. His shoe shine stand had two chairs, one of which was occupied by a customer, the other being empty. On impulse, I stepped up into the vacant chair and waited my turn.
When it was my turn, I sat and observed the meticulous work of the shoe shiner and the perfectly organized drawer of supplies which he opened and closed as he did his work. I watched as he tucked my shoelaces into my shoes to keep them out of the way while he cleaned my shoes, then applied polish, then brushed, then used a polishing rag to bring out a brilliant, deep shine. As he applied the final coat of liquid dye to the soles of my shoes, untucked my shoelaces, then tapped the bottom of my shoe to signal that he was finished, my mind was flooded with a long-forgotten memory.
I was remembering a boy I once knew who had a shoe shine stand in his grandfather's barber shop. This boy was about ten years old when he started shining shoes, and worked in the barber shop shining shoes on Saturdays. At first, it took a tremendous amount of courage for him to approach customers and say: "Shoe shine, sir?" (I challenge you to say that ten times fast - it's a real tongue-twister). I remember that he had a portable shoe shine box so that he could shine a customer's shoes while they were in the barber chair if they were pressed for time, or were using that as an excuse not to get a shoe shine. I remember how he used to pop his polishing rag to add a little flair to the final polishing process and hope it would get him a bigger tip. I remember him being terrified of getting polish stains on customer's white socks. I remember how, toward the end of the day, he would walk across the street to the bank and deposit some of his earnings into his savings account.
Yes, I remember being a shoe shine boy in my grandfather's barber shop. That was a long time ago - almost fifty years now. It hardly seems real. It's one of those childhood memories that has reduced down over time to a sweet, nostalgic reminiscence. Looking back, the life of that boy seems so simple and carefree.
Before you go, you might enjoy listening to this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bh5A2qmWjf0
