It All Started With A Shoe

A lot of weird things happen to me. Or maybe I make them happen? Does that make me weird? I’m not sure, that’s a whole can of worms I have no intention of opening. What I do know is that my life has always been interesting. There’s nothing that can deny that. But I like it that way because I’m a storyteller. And I always have such odd ones to share. 

I guess my mother can be proud. A passion that we’ve always shared together has sprung me to do something that she’s been trying to get me to do for years. Put myself out there. For some reason she thought I would be good at being an influencer. But I would always say “No, that’s a lot of work. I barely remember to text people back!” Or that I should become Tik Tok famous, “Again mom, that’s a lot of work. Also, I barely know how to work my phone, let alone Tik Tok!” But finally, she has found the Golden Ticket. I love to write personal anecdotes, and I love to tell stories. So, here we are. Mom – this one’s for you. 

‘Twas a Sunday morning and all through the apartment, not a creature was stirring but me and my cat. I had taken off work that day so that I could go to the table read for a horror film I had been cast in. However, I don’t have a car because I live in Chicago. The table read was at 1pm in Elburn, which is 56 miles away from my apartment. So, I’d planned to take the Metra and then an Uber. The only problem with that is this – I have never for a day in my life, ever, been on time to make a Metra train, let alone early. In fact, on multiple occasions I have been known to sprint through the door of the building, hastily buy a ticket, and sprint through the tracks in heels as I try to get on my train and find a seat in the 2 minutes I have before it takes off. One time, for the Amtrak, I was the LAST person to board the train. Literally as they were getting ready to close the doors, I had sprinted down the track regardless of the workers on the track telling me to stop running. My poor little kitty probably got shaken baby syndrome for that one, I still feel bad about it. But this time, I was determined to make it early. I woke up around 6am because that is Atlas’ preferred time for a wakeup call every day. I got ready, even did my hair and put on mascara! If I’m being honest, and this is important to the story, I genuinely thought for the last 12 hours that I would wear flats and change into my cute open toed, charcoal gray, suede heels when I got on the train. I really did. I planned it all out for like 3 days. What I was going to wear (an open charcoal colored flannel pajama top with the matching bra, secured with a black belt, over a white jean skirt and my charcoal heels), what time I was going to leave (20 minutes earlier than I needed to be at the bus stop because the 60 bus is unreliable), and how I would get to the location after I got off the Metra (an Uber, duh). But to quote my favorite man (Harry Potter) “We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose”. Well if that isn’t the Samantha Lammert Motto. 

I ended up leaving ‘on time’ instead of early like I planned, because, have you met me? I get on the 60 bus and, I start thinking ahead and buy my ticket online so I don’t have to do it when I get there – because I’m checking my eta to the station and it’s looking like I’ll cut it close. I got off the bus and could NOT figure out which street to head toward to get to the entrance to the Olgilvie station, as I was coming from a new direction this time. Ah, the drag of living in a new neighborhood every year. And as I’m sprinting across the street, because I think I’ve finally figured out where exactly I’m going, I trip over something. I almost faceplant, but I don’t because I’m good like that. And as I look back to see what I tripped over, I think did something fall out of my bag? Did I drop my phone? What is it? I see this gray thing. It looks like a piece of rubber. I almost turn around and just leave it, because I don’t need anything to make me any later than I already am. And that’s when I realize how grateful I am for my nosy ass personality. It’s not rubber, IT’S THE BOTTOM OF MY SHOE. I look down and realize the entire platform under my right heel has come off. How did I not realize one foot is higher off the ground from the other? Let’s call it adrenaline. But I don’t have time to go back and change my shoes and I don’t have time to run to DSW to buy new ones. Although, I really did think about it. I just grabbed my platform and sprinted in one broken heel and one unbroken one all the way until I got on that train. 2 minutes before it left the station. Phew. (I was actually anxious for myself as I was recounting this and writing it down, I don’t know why, I know exactly what happens next.) 

Now, remember how I said I had originally planned to wear and/or bring flats with me? Yeah, I should’ve known myself better than that. I’m too stubborn to wear anything other than the stunning shoes that perfectly match my outfit. I forgot to even pack any (looking back on it, I think I purposely forgot because I thought it would detract from the style; we’ll never know). Except, if I’d brought flats, I’d be totally fine right now. Or even just an extra pair of heels would’ve done great! I really quickly research shoe stores in Elburn. Crash and burn of an idea. There are none. I asked the Conductor that walked by if he had any tape or glue (believe it or not, this has happened before to my lacquered leopard print pumps when I took a tumble down these crumbled stone stairs at work one time. Thank you Saul for taping them and making it look stylish!) but alas, he said they had none. I have nothing in my bag of tricks to help either. If I’d had my purse on me I could’ve taped it together with some bandaids? I don’t know, I would’ve figured something out. Buuut I had packed a backpack especially for this trip. It’s like I plan against myself on these things?? In a moment of innovation, I put the hair tie around the bottom and the top of the shoe and put my heel back on my foot. The bottom stayed on, you could see the hair tie on the sides, but my foot was keeping it in place. I am a genius. Until an hour and a half later when we arrived in Elburn. 

I should’ve guessed, seeing as I have had a similar experience when I was home in Wentzville my sophomore year of college, but Elburn does not have Ubers. Or Lyfts. And it was a 43 minute walk to the location of the table read. I had planned for a 6 minute drive so I could be there 30 minutes early. Plus it was hot out. It’s the middle of summer, I have 1 broken shoe, I’m wearing a flannel, and I’m about to walk for 43 minutes which will inevitably leave me to arrive 9 minutes late. Well, damn. So much for my thinking ahead. But I got my shit together and I started walking. Taking a snap video narrating my trip so far for my sister, mom, and close friends – I begin my trek. That trek lasted about 1 minute and 45 seconds because at that exact moment, the bottom of the shoe came out from under the hair tie and I nearly face planted again. But I didn’t! All this time, I’m just thinking, Of course this is happening to me. Why wouldn’t it? I would’ve just taken my shoes off and gone barefoot, (it couldn’t be worse than the time I walked barefoot in New York) but there was no sidewalk, the road was blacktop, and as I said it was the middle of summer. That would’ve hurt quite terribly. So, I grumble a bit, pick up the bottom of my shoe, and start walking. Unevenly. In one broken shoe. All the while taking videos of my irritation as the construction workers nearby watch. I ended up taking my shirt off too because it was too hot to walk around in a long sleeved flannel, I mean I was sweating profusely. Besides, it was the middle of nowhere, who was going to see me? 

I keep walking and about 15 minutes later, I’ve gotten around the curve of the street. In other words, literally nowhere. I had such a long way to go and I literally had not stopped walking yet. I have absolutely no problems with long walks, in fact, I love them! I walk most places in Chicago if I can, because I love to walk and it clears my head. However, all I could think at this moment was Of-fucking-course. Nothing else. I couldn’t stop grumbling. I’m laughing so hard at myself right now thinking back on it because, while I had been on the train I kept saying this would be such a funny story later on – breaking a heel on the way to a table read! Who else would do that! It’ll be such a funny ice breaker. Like the time I had to use a mechanical pencil eraser as the back of an earring when I went through sorority recruitment! I couldn’t wear one earring and my outfit wouldn’t look the same if I took them both out, so I used an eraser. Great talking point!! 

I spoke too soon. My goofy incident grew and took on a life of its own. 

All the while I’m walking, I’m still trying to order a Lyft, to see if there’s literally any way I can make this trip faster and get there on time. I was just going to keep walking and if one did go through, great! I would be farther along and the drive would be even shorter! But regardless, I wasn’t going to stop covering ground just in case one didn’t go through. About 20 minutes into this walk, a car pulls up across the divider. You have to remember – at this point I’m literally wearing a bra, a skirt, walking lopsided in one broken heel, and walking on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday. I had to look absolutely crazy. I put my shirt on and stop walking and wonder if this is the moment I get murdered. My family always told me I needed to be more careful, and they were right, this is it! The stranger calls out, “Do you need a ride?” I was always told never to get in a car with a stranger. I’m a 21 year old girl, I know how this ends! So I responded with, “Are you a murderer?” Of course, he said no. I mean, what else would he have said? But what sounded like a better idea – walking lopsided in 90 degree weather for another 26 minutes and being late? Or taking a chance on this man who seemed nice enough in this pristine suburban area? I mean, this place probably had multiple homeowner associations where they held meetings that offered sugar cookies and lemonade. So, I got in the car. 

I’m a neurotic and anxious person, so being in a strangers car had my stress meter through the roof. And all he says is, “I work at that construction site next to the station. I turned to my buddy when I saw you walking and said ‘Can they even get Ubers out here?’ but he just laughed and said no. You looked like you were struggling so I thought I’d offer to drive you wherever it is you need to go.” Okay, did your jaw drop? Mine did. He brought ice cold water bottles and Gatorade popsicles from the site just for me. Because he thought I might need them. ARE YOU KIDDING ME. What a kind stranger! It turns out the location of the table read was only a 3 minute drive from that point, he dropped me off and wished me the best of luck with my shoe and my career. Then he went back to work. And I went back to my day with my belief in chivalry and kindness restored. 

Once I got into the library where we were holding the table read, the librarian was able to get me some tacky glue and I got my shoe together enough to be able to walk on it so long as I continued with the hair tie trick. And I was right! It was a great ice breaker, people thought it was hilarious. As soon as I was out from under the beating sun, I did too. It was a good thing I forgot to pack another pair of shoes, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had this experience. I wouldn’t have realized this pair of heels was done-zo and needed to be thrown away. I wouldn’t have remembered (at least, not at this point) that there are such good people in the world and not everyone is terrible. I wouldn’t have had a hilarious experience and a great story to tell. And my mom wouldn’t have been able to convince me to write this blog to tell my incredibly goofy stories. It looks like it worked out for everyone. Especially me I think, because I was mainly the only one in the story. But still! 

Random construction worker – if you ever see this, I am very grateful for your generosity. There’s not many people I know that would leave work just to drive a struggling stranger to an unknown destination. I appreciate you immensely. 

Despite all my jokes, I’m really proud of myself when things like this happen. It may not be anything big, it may just be several inconvenient circumstances thrown together, but it just reminds me that I have grit. Mirriam Webster defines it as “firmness of mind or spirit : unyielding courage in the face of hardship or danger” and as intangible as it’s always been to me, that sums it up perfectly. The entire experience, I just kept thinking, well this proves it. I’m a city girl. Over and over in my head, it just kept going. And that’s not a bad thing, it’s not. I’ve always been a city girl at heart, I have the closet of a city girl, I have the mindset of one. But for some reason, I kept associating a city girl life with not having grit. Which isn’t true. Grit has always been something that I’ve wanted to be able to attribute to myself. Ever since Mr. Boesch put it on the Smartboard 5 years ago. I’ve dwelled on it, I’m a dweller. It wasn’t until this trip, until I was sitting in the pub after the table read, waiting for my train home and writing down the events of the day that I realized I do have it. I always have, I just never realized it. Grit doesn’t have to be major – it can be the fact that I would have walked that 43 minutes to get to the library while wearing 2 different heighted heels. Still getting on that train and deciding to continue onward, rather than going back home to change shoes and Ubering to Elburn. Grit can be the smaller things too. As most things can be when in relation to the strength of your character. It’s not the big things that make you who and what you are. Your character is the actions you take every single day leading up to the big events. 

Maybe it was the tequila I was drinking while pondering my day, but as I was looking back on the events – it dawned on me. This is who I am. This is why my mom wanted me to do something where I can tell my stories, to show my character as a storyteller and resident Weirdo. These odd things always happen to me because of who I am and how I interact with the world. I’ve always just shared these stories with those around me, my parents guffawing at my (mis)fortune all the while. It was when my mom told me I needed to start writing them down for a future memoir that I really thought about it. I would always write them down in my diary – a way to remember the things that happen when I’m older. But the idea of writing them down and being able to articulate personal anecdotes for others? That’s something I love to do. I’m always looking for reasons to write personal pieces, and now I have a reason to do it as often as I’d like. So thank you Joanne for pushing me to be more confident and putting my words out there. You may soon come to regret it. Funny how this crazy idea all started with a (broken) shoe. Thus begins my newest adventure of sharing my stories with you all.  Thank you for sticking through to the end of my sordid tale and may all my stories bring you as much joy reading as I get from sharing them.