Cobbling it Together

This is off topic, it is not about Sweden, or cats, or mental health, or NaNoWriMo.  I have absolutely no fuc&ing idea why it came out of my head today except that it did…

I think I would rather be dead or dying than work in a shoe repair shop. Horrible fumes and noises assault you when you walk through the door; the shoe wheel screeching, the metal scraping on the saw cutter, the strong smell of, oh dear, I guess that would be foot. The cobbler of today (also called a cordwainer), the person who repairs your shoes, is found in underground stations, crevices, back alleys, and squished between escalators and walkways in malls around the world. It is like you are entering the underground world of Gepetto’s cousin, apparently a relative of Daniel Day-Lewis who apprenticed as a shoe maker in Italy for a time. Although the people working in these stores are skilled, and necessary, they are not respected properly. How many times have you walked by one of these stores and been oblivious to it until you need their help to fix the heel that got caught in the sidewalk while you rushed to an important meeting? Or maybe the zipper on that very expensive pair of boots (my favorites) needs replacing? These are things we are not equipped to do without the skills and tools that reside in these shops, a trade that has an important history recorded in Virginia, for example. I searched Amazon and only one book seemed to be the definitive guide for shoe repair and it was originally printed in 1885 (today’s edition includes updates of course).

All I know is that with the world’s economy on a downturn, the cobblers of the world are an alternative to having to break in new shoes. Or if you are lucky, you can leave shoes behind and let your toes be free!



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