A man walks into a shoe and a friendly salesperson is about:
- How I can serve you, sir?
- would like a pair of black shoes as the showcase.
- Why not, sir. Let's see: the number you want to be ... forty-one. Right?
- No. I want a thirty-nine, please.
- Excuse me, sir. Twenty years ago working on this and their number should be a forty-one. Maybe forty, but not a thirty-nine.
- Thirty-nine, please.
- Excuse me, allow me to measure your foot?
- Measure what you want, but I want a pair of shoes of thirty-nine.
Seller drawer pulls this strange device used shoe salesmen to measure feet and welcome, proclaim "See? What I said, a forty-one! ".
- Tell me who will pay for the shoes, you or me?
- You.
- Good. So what brings me thirty-nine?
The seller, between resignation and surprised, to search for the pair of shoes in the number thirty-nine. Along the way he realizes what is happening: the shoes are not for humans, but which are surely to make a gift.
- Lord, here they are: the thirty-nine, and black.
- Can I have a shoehorn?
- Are they going to get?
- Yes, of course.
- Are for you?
- Yes! Can I bring a shoehorn?
The shoe is essential to get that foot into that shoe. After several ridiculous attempts and positions, the customer gets to put the whole foot inside the shoe.
Between moans and grunts walking a few steps on the carpet, with increasing difficulty.
- Okay. I take them. The seller
hurt their feet only imagine the client's fingers crushed in the shoes of the thirty-nine.
- Is the wrap?
- No, thanks. I take them places.
The customer leaves the store and walk, as it may, the three blocks that separate it of their work. Works as a cashier in a bank.
At four in the afternoon, after spending more than six hours standing in those shoes, his face is contorted, his eyes reddened and tears fell copiously from his eyes.
mate next box has been watching all afternoon and is worried about him.
- What is it? Are you sick?
- No. These are the shoes.
- What happens to the shoes?
- I pinch.
- What happened? Have you wet?
- No. There are two sizes smaller than my foot.
- Who are they?
- Mine.
- I do not understand. Do not your feet hurt?
- I are killing your feet.
- And then?
- I'll explain, "he says, swallowing. I do not live a life of great satisfaction. In fact, in recent times, I have very few nice moments.
- And?
- I'm killing with these shoes. I suffer terribly, it is true ... But within a few hours, when it comes to my house and remove them, can you imagine the pleasure you feel? What a pleasure, man! What a pleasure!
(Jorge Bucay)
0 comments:
Post a Comment