Take a Walk in My Shoes

Walking into the bank, I could still smell the sweet, unique scent of fresh earth from the trench I had just finished digging for the basement of a new home down on Eckert Avenue. I’d come straight from work, not stopping to pick up the large French vanilla coffee from Tim Horton’s, a common indulgence after a hard day’s work, or even to wash my once pale hands free of the filth that now covered them. I took a look around and inwardly groaned as I noticed the growing line of barely patient customers already waiting for a teller to become open so that they could complete their business and move on to the next task of the day. Forced to join the bundle, I stepped in line behind a short, plump woman with long, braided dark hair and hoped to god that her business here was short as well.

 Waiting is really the most difficult part of life. Waiting to see if she’ll show up for our first date. Waiting to hear if she’ll give me everything I’ve ever wanted and agree to tie her life to mine until death. And now, waiting to see if she took everything I’ve worked hard for and ran. Patience has never been my best quality.

“I can help you here, sir.”

Finally.

My turn.

Running a rough hand through my sweat stained hair, and then down again over my stressed eyes and across my day old scruff of a beard, I slowly dragged my feet over to the counter. My boots felt ten times heavier as my suspicion grew.

“Just the balance,” I pleaded as I handed over the barely recognizable piece of plastic that pegged me as a customer of this bank.

 The woman, a tall, beautiful blond who looks remarkably similar to the woman who may have betrayed me, hesitated before she took possession of it. She had the same look of disgust as my wife as well, as she fully absorbed my stained, faded short-sleeved shirt, pale cargo pant, and the faint trail of dirt preserved foot prints leading up to my position. Her long, gel nails tapped against the keys of her computer; the clicking rang in my ears like a long anticipated phone call as she searched for my fate. The printer buzzed to life and spit out the lone slip of power that I have anticipated and feared all day. With out a word, the women placed it before me.

As my breath slowed, the only air that that choked down my throat and reached for my lungs was filled with dread. My hands slightly shook as I leaned against the cold marble of the counters to help my tired eyes focus on the number.

Visibly slumping, I sighed in relief. It was all there. I turned on my heel and followed my disappearing dirt trail back the way I had come, finally ready to head home. It was time for a nap.

College Application

My friends have described me as a very modest, dedicated young woman who loves to share, but I’m sure they just wanted a piece of my first class, award winning, Gordon Ramsey approved blueberry cheesecake. They didn’t get any.

In the mornings, I like to take a stroll up Mount Everest. At lunch, the teachers start to gather in my classroom for their afternoon lesson. The students of my school through me a parade for relieving them of their own classes, as the teachers were too busy with their homework. Once, after the lesson, I flew all my ‘students’ to Barcelona, Spain, for a bit to eat before I hiked to North Korea to start a revolution against communism. I defeated Lil’ Kim and made it home for dinner, as I didn’t want to anger the only thing in the world that scares me. My mother.   

Wielding only ducktape, I created new, refreshing dresses for all the girls in a poor city in Africa. Wielding only ducktape, I patched a hole in a box to stop the rain from reaching an old, homeless man. Wielding only ducktape, I soared up a five foot cliff to save a child who was too scared to jump. All in an afternoon, with time to spare to travel across Canada “on track to Ottawa” style.

            In reference to your question, I am more then willing to create a time in which I can teach you all about me. Maybe sometime between discovering the meaning of life and having brunch with god. Though it might take longer.

                                                                              Sincerely
                                                                                             Angelica Heppner