Tripping

This morning, as I was walking from the Metro North train to the silver 15-passenger van that takes me and my fellow commuters to work everyday (more on that in a future post), I saw a guy in front of me with his shoe untied.

His hair was extremely short. In fact, he had shaved some sort of symbols or hieroglyphics into the side of his head. I tried to get a good look at them to see if I could read this important follicular message, but I could only catch a glimpse of a few slivers of it. I think it was more abstract cranial art anyway. But I admired his creativity in finding ways—however fleeting—in which to express himself. His pate was but a blank slate.

In any event, he was wearing clothes in a particular style—marked by bagginess. Baggy jacket. Really baggy pants. It wasn’t slovenly, really… just remarkably roomy and somewhat gravitationally-challenged. I recognize that this is a style, though. Unbelievably loose and low-hanging clothing… it’s fashion.

I looked down, and noticed his shoe was untied. Normally, I’m quick to let someone know when this is the case. They risk injury and embarrassment, and it is an easily remedied situation. But at this moment, I was paralyzed with indecision, because I didn’t know if it was a hazard or a fashion statement.

I could have said “Sir, you shoe is untied.”

And he could’ve said “I know. Nothing’s tied on me! I’m untethered, bitch!”

Or I could’ve said “Hi there, might want to tie those. Don’t want to trip.”

And he might’ve said “And you might want to take those beat 1995-looking things on your feet and shove them directly up your cobbler’s ass. Those shoes look like they voted for Bob Dole. Who let you leave the house in those? Looks like you’re the one who is tripping. Ohhhhhh snap!”

So, in the end, I didn’t say anything to him. I only had a moment, and then he was too far away for me to say anything (he walked briskly, despite the expected looseness of his shoes). I regret it. I wish I hadn’t let fashion insecurities get in the way of neighborly concern.

Anyway, the lesson, I think, is that my subconscious thinks I need new shoes. Preferably without laces.