Last week I traveled to New York for a few meetings, then stopped over in Illinois for a quick Easter visit before flying home. In the first airport a shoe shine man lounging by his stand called as I passed:
“Shoe shine, lady?”
He stared down at my battered brown lace-ups, then looked up accusingly:
“They need one.”
Shoe shine guy: 1, My pride: 0, My poor abused footwear: Beyond hope.
I can’t walk past a shoe-shine stand without hearing Johnny Cash’s rockabilly Get Rhythm in my head. This is an old recording, but you get the idea: