I know that most of the stories I write on this blog involve past experiences. I’m not saying that this entry is not a past incident but it doest involve the very recent past. In fact, it happened last weekend on a drip to DeKalb.
This past weekend I drove to Northern Illinois University to visit my girlfriend. After sitting at her house for a few hours, my girlfriend Emmagizer and I decided to take a trip to the mall. After a few twists and wrong turns we made it to the Outlet mall located a few miles from NIU.
Shopping for me is about as fun as watching a golf tournament, however this trip had something a little more exciting. It’s not just that we bought Mrs. Fields cookies and of course they hit they spot. This trip involves something even more special. To my complete surprise as we walked along the sidewalk of the outdoor mall; we came across a Converse Store.
Never in my life had I ever seen a tangible store dedicated to the Converse brand. I felt like higher than Charlie Sheen, as if I too had tiger blood. I walked through the isles of the store taking in all products of the wonderful store. Chuck Taylor shoes were everywhere. There were more styles of Chucks then I ever knew. Some with leather, suede, high-tops, low tops, and everything you could ever imagine.
I could hardly contain myself. I saw a pair of Chucks that had an amazing argyle design. I felt like they made that argyle pattern just for me. Who else could rock a pair of argyle shoes better than me? Of course, I didn’t have any money and could only window-shop. I felt like I left my child on someone’s doorstep as I left. I wanted to leave a note on the shoes the read, “I can’t afford these shoes right now. But please take good care of them. Tell them one day I will return.” It was sad and I still think of those wonderful shoes sitting on the shelf of the store.
One day I hope to return there and buy those argyle patterned Chucks. However until that day comes I will keep dreaming of my shoes that could be.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
K-9 Converse
Not every occasion with my Converse shoes involves feces or the police. There are times when I do great things for other people. This tale does not involve feces or the police. It also does not involve great things for other people.
Before I left for the Navy I wanted to get in shape. I decided that running would be the best way to achieve this. On those sunny summer afternoons I would go for a jog in my Chuck Taylors. Usually running one to two miles although on occasion I would run up to five miles. I felt energetic when I ran and could feel my body get healthier. I knew that when I got to boot camp I could easily run the mile in less than ten minutes, the standard time for a sailor.
From time to time my feet would get bloody from running in the rubber-soled shoes. It became apparent to me that Chuck’s were not the best track shoes. However I felt stylish in my blue converse’s as I ran the streets of Shorewood.
I kept myself at a steady jog; I was never one to over exert myself. I wasn’t looking to run a marathon, just keep my figure.
One particular day on my jog I ran past a familiar house. Normally the man who lived in the house was outside doing yard work. This day the garage was open but no one was there. As I ran past I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned to see a German Shepherd that came up to my hip chasing behind me.
I looked forward scream and forced my body into a dead sprint. I ran past three houses before I saw a trunk parked under a tree on the side of the road. I ran onto the bed of the truck in one quick motion and jumped onto a limb from the tree. The German Shepherd barked from below me.
Finally the owner of the dog came running over. He angrily said, “what’s wrong with you? You never run from a dog.” As if I was supposed to stand there as this giant beat charged at me. In a stressful situation the body says, “we can stand our ground or we can get the Hell outta here.” I went with the flight part of the biological response.
I collected myself and walked the rest of the way home. Periodically checking my rear for anything that may attack. Now every time I drive past that house I think of the dog. Just like when I pass the tree I picture my hanging upside down like a scared squirrel.
Before I left for the Navy I wanted to get in shape. I decided that running would be the best way to achieve this. On those sunny summer afternoons I would go for a jog in my Chuck Taylors. Usually running one to two miles although on occasion I would run up to five miles. I felt energetic when I ran and could feel my body get healthier. I knew that when I got to boot camp I could easily run the mile in less than ten minutes, the standard time for a sailor.
From time to time my feet would get bloody from running in the rubber-soled shoes. It became apparent to me that Chuck’s were not the best track shoes. However I felt stylish in my blue converse’s as I ran the streets of Shorewood.
I kept myself at a steady jog; I was never one to over exert myself. I wasn’t looking to run a marathon, just keep my figure.
One particular day on my jog I ran past a familiar house. Normally the man who lived in the house was outside doing yard work. This day the garage was open but no one was there. As I ran past I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned to see a German Shepherd that came up to my hip chasing behind me.
I looked forward scream and forced my body into a dead sprint. I ran past three houses before I saw a trunk parked under a tree on the side of the road. I ran onto the bed of the truck in one quick motion and jumped onto a limb from the tree. The German Shepherd barked from below me.
Finally the owner of the dog came running over. He angrily said, “what’s wrong with you? You never run from a dog.” As if I was supposed to stand there as this giant beat charged at me. In a stressful situation the body says, “we can stand our ground or we can get the Hell outta here.” I went with the flight part of the biological response.
I collected myself and walked the rest of the way home. Periodically checking my rear for anything that may attack. Now every time I drive past that house I think of the dog. Just like when I pass the tree I picture my hanging upside down like a scared squirrel.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Sobriety Chucks
There is never a more perfect time to encounter Shorewood’s finest wearing low top Converse shoes than when you are completely sober. If the meeting with the police ends in a humorous story and no citations, than it’s even better.
My best friend Phil aged to 22 three years ago. For his birthday I was in Missouri visiting my sister when a blizzard came across the small southern county. I called Phil and told him that I wasn’t going to make it to his birthday because of all the snow. What Phil didn’t know was that I was only joking about not making the party and that I was already home when the blizzard hit.
I knew that Phil was going bowling because many of our friends were not 21 years old yet. I also had an accomplice who was keeping me updated on the status of the partiers. After about an hour of bowling and drinking I showed up to see my buddy Phil, who was shocked when I walked in the bowling alley… and a little more than drunk.
Phil gave me a drunken man’s hug and stumbled back over to his lane. After a few more hours of drinking, Phil decided it was time to go home. During the ride Phil filled me in on his night before I made it to the bowling alley. I heard about all the beer and shots people were buying him and how he hit a pillar in the bowling alley after the bowling ball skipped across three lanes during his turn. Needless to say, my good friend was pretty hammered.
I got Phil home just after midnight, but I thought that was too soon to call it quits. His mom had two bottles of wine sitting on the kitchen counter and I convinced him to continue to drink. We each had a glass, followed by Phil polishing off the rest of the bottle.
Through his drunken slurs, Phil said he wanted to visit his girlfriend for a ...um, late night rendezvous. I agreed that if he called her and she answered I’d take him to her house. Sure enough, she answered. Since it was his birthday and I am a good friend, I told him to call me when he was ready to be picked up.
I went home and fell asleep for about an hour when I got a call from Phil, ready to be picked up. When I got to the girls house I saw Phil standing behind a bush peeing on his girlfriend’s house. He waved at me like an idiot and stumbled into the car. I noticed in his hand was an empty bottle of wine and asked if he and his girlfriend drank the whole bottle. He said, “nope” at first I felt relieved but then he said, “I drank it all.” The only thing I could think was, “oh dear!”
Just as we made it out of the subdivision and onto the country roads of Shorewood and Minooka, Phil needed me to pull over. It seemed he was experiencing flu-like symptoms. He felt dizzy, had a headache and of course, he had to puke.
I quickly pulled the car over and let him do his thing. Occasionally asking if he was okay and he’d respond with a thumbs up. After a few minutes of puking and Phil chucking the empty bottle of wine he said he was good to go. But just as he was reaching for the car door he began puking again. At this point I noticed a car had pulled up behind us and stopped.
Nervous that this vehicle was a cop I told Phil to get in my car. He said, “It’s not a cop” and began shouting at the car to “go around.” Phil continued shouting, “go around, go around” and motioning with his hands for the car to go around my car when suddenly in my rearview mirror I see blue and red flashing lights. Phil looked at me from the other side of my car door and said, “Oh shit, I think it’s a cop.”
The cop approached my car and asked if everything was all right. I told him I was just driving drunky home. The officer asked for our driver’s licenses. I handed him mine from out of my pocket. Phil however had a little more trouble. Rather than opening the car door he decided to dive through the passenger window to hand over his license. Of course this ended in him dropping it on the car floor. Which in turn made him fall through the window onto his face, before he successfully handed off his Illinois license to one of Shorewood’s finest.
As we waited for the cop to decide our fate, I couldn’t help but look at my friend and laugh. I wondered how we always managed to end in crazy situations. The cop finally came back and even though Phil tried to get into a jurisdiction battle with the officer. The policeman decided to let us go as long as I took Phil straight home.
As I drove away I was happy that we didn’t get any tickets, that Phil was going home safe and that I didn’t mess up my summer Converse shoes.
My best friend Phil aged to 22 three years ago. For his birthday I was in Missouri visiting my sister when a blizzard came across the small southern county. I called Phil and told him that I wasn’t going to make it to his birthday because of all the snow. What Phil didn’t know was that I was only joking about not making the party and that I was already home when the blizzard hit.
I knew that Phil was going bowling because many of our friends were not 21 years old yet. I also had an accomplice who was keeping me updated on the status of the partiers. After about an hour of bowling and drinking I showed up to see my buddy Phil, who was shocked when I walked in the bowling alley… and a little more than drunk.
Phil gave me a drunken man’s hug and stumbled back over to his lane. After a few more hours of drinking, Phil decided it was time to go home. During the ride Phil filled me in on his night before I made it to the bowling alley. I heard about all the beer and shots people were buying him and how he hit a pillar in the bowling alley after the bowling ball skipped across three lanes during his turn. Needless to say, my good friend was pretty hammered.
I got Phil home just after midnight, but I thought that was too soon to call it quits. His mom had two bottles of wine sitting on the kitchen counter and I convinced him to continue to drink. We each had a glass, followed by Phil polishing off the rest of the bottle.
Through his drunken slurs, Phil said he wanted to visit his girlfriend for a ...um, late night rendezvous. I agreed that if he called her and she answered I’d take him to her house. Sure enough, she answered. Since it was his birthday and I am a good friend, I told him to call me when he was ready to be picked up.
I went home and fell asleep for about an hour when I got a call from Phil, ready to be picked up. When I got to the girls house I saw Phil standing behind a bush peeing on his girlfriend’s house. He waved at me like an idiot and stumbled into the car. I noticed in his hand was an empty bottle of wine and asked if he and his girlfriend drank the whole bottle. He said, “nope” at first I felt relieved but then he said, “I drank it all.” The only thing I could think was, “oh dear!”
Just as we made it out of the subdivision and onto the country roads of Shorewood and Minooka, Phil needed me to pull over. It seemed he was experiencing flu-like symptoms. He felt dizzy, had a headache and of course, he had to puke.
I quickly pulled the car over and let him do his thing. Occasionally asking if he was okay and he’d respond with a thumbs up. After a few minutes of puking and Phil chucking the empty bottle of wine he said he was good to go. But just as he was reaching for the car door he began puking again. At this point I noticed a car had pulled up behind us and stopped.
Nervous that this vehicle was a cop I told Phil to get in my car. He said, “It’s not a cop” and began shouting at the car to “go around.” Phil continued shouting, “go around, go around” and motioning with his hands for the car to go around my car when suddenly in my rearview mirror I see blue and red flashing lights. Phil looked at me from the other side of my car door and said, “Oh shit, I think it’s a cop.”
The cop approached my car and asked if everything was all right. I told him I was just driving drunky home. The officer asked for our driver’s licenses. I handed him mine from out of my pocket. Phil however had a little more trouble. Rather than opening the car door he decided to dive through the passenger window to hand over his license. Of course this ended in him dropping it on the car floor. Which in turn made him fall through the window onto his face, before he successfully handed off his Illinois license to one of Shorewood’s finest.
As we waited for the cop to decide our fate, I couldn’t help but look at my friend and laugh. I wondered how we always managed to end in crazy situations. The cop finally came back and even though Phil tried to get into a jurisdiction battle with the officer. The policeman decided to let us go as long as I took Phil straight home.
As I drove away I was happy that we didn’t get any tickets, that Phil was going home safe and that I didn’t mess up my summer Converse shoes.
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