A Shoe Story

Last week I had a job interview with a publishing company in Evanston. Being the corporal embodiment of mentally preparedness, I figured all I needed to worry about was my physical appearance.

In order to look as dapper as possible, I reckoned the essentials were a suit, some well-placed hair gel, and two matching black dress shoes. Thanks to a graduation gift from my parents and my scary obsession with hair product, the suit and the gel were taken care of. Needless to say, hours before the interview I realized that a pair of my dad's boat shoes and some flashy orange and silver running kicks were the only pieces of footwear I opted to bring to Chicago. With nowhere else to turn, I asked my friend Andrew, proud owner of the world’s largest feet, if I could sponge some shoes. He obliged.

Donning running shoes on the train for comfort purposes, I slipped into Andrew's shoes outside the publishing house and proceeded to my interview. After a bit of trouble negotiating the steps, I entered.

"Hi, I'm Bozo. I'm here in regards to the Quality Assurance position."