tory burch for foodies.

9 Aug

Something that you and I might have in common is that we both maybe wear Tory Burch ballet flats to work. I’m not trying to judge you and assume that because you are a girl from Long Island who is most likely Jewish or friends with Jews at the very least, because it appears as though that’s basically the only audience my blog attracts other than my parents and my father-in-law the seaman, but let’s just assume that you or your mom and/or sister and/or wife and/or mistress owns a pair of Tory flats. Perhaps they sit in their box in your closet and only get pulled out on special occasions like casual girl’s night outs and trips to the Miracle Mile. Or maybe when fall rolls around and flip flop season concludes, you’ll slap on a pair to run out for some self-serve fro yo. There’s also the chance that you have them in 14 colors and textures, although that’s a little bit of overkill because a) that means you have a totally flatlined footwear fashion personality, and b) you have dropped $3000 on flats that you LITERALLY could have purchased for $30 each at the Capezio store and you therefore have a skewed sense of bargain shopping as well as no desire to be tall or make your legs look slimmer in which case go screw your skinny self. Regardless of the circumstance, if you have a pair of these shoesies and you wear them to your place of employment, then we have something in common. I hesitated for a long time because I thought that owning a pair meant that I was selling my soul to the Conformist Devil and it went against all the Indie bands I listened to and all the Christian propaganda teenager program I subjected myself to on ABC Family. But then my mom got me a pair for my birthday and I was like “Wait why would I miss out on this? This shit’s comfy!” and I haven’t turned back.

I’m not going to act like I treat mine well, because I really don’t. I tried at first, but it lasted like 2 days. On day 1 I tiptoed around the restaurant and polished the gold logos on the top of each shoe with the Brasso that’s usually reserved for shining up the beer tower. On day 2 I refused to wrap takeout orders because I felt as though it was too close to the ketchup dispenser and I might stain my black shoes darker black. Day 3 was a huge turning point, because one of the double swinging doors in the kitchen sliced a gash in the leather so deep that if my shoe were alive then he totally would have needed stitches (I made my shoe a boy because girls are sometimes cranky and nobody wants cranky flats). It was on that day that I decided to treat the fancy shoes like I treat every other pair of my work shoes – Like really pretty construction boots.

As we have discussed in the past, the key qualities that I look for in a work shoe are: comfort, closed toes, heels that won’t get stuck in the mats, major sex appeal especially for weekends and good support for my left big toe because it’s totally broken but I don’t feel like going to the doctor. My work shoes are fucking nasty for the following reasons:

  1. Greasy mats. 
  2. 12+ hours of being on my feet a day except when I work less than that or wind up sitting the whole time talking to my slutty liquor rep.
  3. Generally speaking, my feet don’t smell so good.
  4. I have an inability to find shoes that I like, so I wear pretty much every pair I have until there are at least 3 holes in the soles.
  5. There is no such thing as a “work shoe” during the summer for restaurant people, because we need our toes covered. So we only have the opportunity to purchase appropriate footwear 2.5 seasons out of the year. 
  6. AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST Sometimes you pour a mop bucket of warm dirty bleach water all over your Tory flat. This, in fact, I did just a few lovely lovely lovely hours ago! I was trying to be a nice boss and clean up someone else’s mess, and when I went to roll the big yellow mop wringer outer thing back into the kitchen, I suddenly felt a warm sensation on my foot. Like pee, only it wasn’t pee, it was the nastiest water I had ever laid eyes on – remnants of an hour long grout-scrubbing session that I had earlier initiated behind the bar mixed with like equal parts bleach. And my lucky left foot was soaking in it as though it was fucking lavender water at a pedicure. I remained alarmingly calm. I’m not sure if my pills kicked in or if I was sort of excited to have one white flat and one black flat. Plus the gold logo on the sopping shoe was shinier than ever!

So in case you ever find yourself daydreaming about how cool it would be to have a restaurant, think of me scrubbing grout in my now-poop-and-bleach-scented Tory Burch ballet flats that were once sort of shiny black and now are matte black and have rapidly forming holes in the soles and on the sides but at least have shiny logos. If that sounds as fun to you as it did to me, then maybe, just maybe, this is the business for you!!


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