escalator awkwardness: a cautionary tale.

I felt as awkward as the people in this photo look.

I felt as awkward as the people in this photo look.

After a lovely dinner, I went to a book store that doesn’t need the promotion so its name will go unmentioned. I’m writing an essay on language in magazines that promote themselves as being feminist, and many of the theorists I’ve been reading mention “less-feminist” magazines, such as Good Housekeeping and Martha Stewart. Because I’ve never read these magazines apart from a quick glance in a doctor’s waiting room, I decided I should read them if I’m writing about language in supposedly feminist magazines. I wanted to determine what it means for a magazine to be feminist and whether there’s any merit to this label or if it’s solely a marketing strategy. I’ve found it’s helpful to understand a topic before writing about it (fancy that! a novel revelation, I know). And now to the cautionary tale…

Adorable but deadly

Adorable but deadly

To the bookstore I went. It is important to mention what I was wearing because it factors into the severe awkwardness that ensued: a leopard print romper, cardigan, and vintage heels that look like ’70s career women shoes, which I guess is fitting considering the purpose of my shopping. I bought these shoes from Good Will for $5, and they need to be re-soled. You will soon see that I paid the price for this negligence. On my way down the escalator, the left heel got caught in the grooves of the step. I couldn’t pull it loose, and as I approached the ground floor, several expletives ran through my head. Rather than taking off the shoe like a rational person might do, I tried to pry my foot loose from the escalator step. It didn’t work.

Upon reaching the ground floor, I fell to the ground, with my shoe still stuck in the escalator. Lying on the floor, I was surrounded by a stack of Good Housekeeping magazines, half shoeless, and my purse’s contents were scattered across the floor. A nice man who worked at this store helped me up and rescued my shoe from the grips of the escalator. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and I almost started explaining why I had a stack of terrible magazines. But I thought better of it; a swift exit with a quick “thank you” was called for. Lessons learned: I should re-sole old shoes. And I should not sacrifice my safety in order to prevent a shoe from being escalator road-kill (escalator-kill?).

Though my shoes and I left relatively unscathed, I can’t say the same for my dignity. I think this is what some might call a huge FAIL.

Finally, a good laugh is still a good laugh, regardless of whether it’s at your own expense. Be careful on those escalators, ladies. xo, m


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