Thursday, August 21, 2014

Flip Flop Family

I have nothing against flip flops, on other people. I myself cannot stand wearing them. That thing that sticks between your big toe and the one next to it bugs the hell out of me. In fact on those occasions I have tried wearing flip flops, I ended up with my between the toes area being rubbed raw. I just can't see walking around all day with those things on, stomping on down the filthy street full of dog crap, used chewing gum, other peoples spit, and the grime of the world.

Yesterday I was standing at the Walgreen's pharmacy counter waiting for my antibiotic eye drops, because now the illness I caught in Chicago has moved into my left eye. It was a fifteen minute wait for the prescription so I sat down. Right next to the pharmacy was one of those Dr. Scholl's custom insole machines, you know, the one you step on and it tells you which insole they should sell you. After a bit, a large plump man wandered around the corner and stood there staring at the machine. Soon he kicked off his flip flops and stood on the little foot outlines with his bare feet. While he was poking at the computer screen a little girl came bouncing around the corner, "Oh daddy, can I try it?". So she kicked off her flip flops and plopped her dirty little girl feet, probably all sticky from candy, on the machine. Before she was done another overweight man with another little girl walked up, obviously part of the family. "Me next, me next!" the smaller girl with smaller flip flops and dirtier feet cried. Sure enough, she had her turn followed by the fat man, again barefoot, and flip flopless.

I don't think the Dr. Scholl's Company meant for everybody to share their athlete's foot, plantar warts, toe nail fungus, and other infections. But now I know not to ever use one of those custom insole kiosks. God forbid I should have somebody else's germs spread to my feet by some hick in flip flops. At least that was what I was thinking while hacking up a fresh phlegm ball while waiting for my prescription.


  1. So does this mean that you, Mark, and anyone else that enters your home have to take their shoes off before entering so as to not stomp in after walking in street filth, spit, car oil spills, funky crap, and chemical?

  2. Touche, Alan. (with a little accent mark on the "e")

  3. No anonymous. I never walk around barefoot in the house, so stomp all your filth at will.