I've never truly understood how there are so many single shoes lining the shoulders of California's highways.
What on earth is happening in cars passing by? I like to imagine that there's some sort of entertaining or scandalous explanation, ignoring the more likely reason of siblings getting revenge or frat boys being jackasses.
I always hope that the offending shoe has been kicked off in a trashy Journey- and Redbull-fueled roadtrip frenzy, In-N-Out wrappers littering the Civic floor. Or that it was sacrificed to the interstate gods as a result of some kind of tricky, 85mph vehicular sex act. Or, better yet, that it was hurled from an unmarked van by a kidnap victim; a previously agreed-upon signal to one's family and friends. Like some kind of unholy, footwear-related Amber Alert replacement.
Actually that's not a bad idea:
"If I go missing, check the sides of highway 5 for my well-worn pair of size-7 Rainbows. You'll know you're on the right track. Left means I'm unhurt; right means trouble..."
A few weeks ago, in search of caffeine, I left my office for the Starbucks at 18th and N. I was half a block away when I noticed something unusual in the bushes next to an ordinary-looking office building. It was a pair of jeans.
This set off a slew of questions in my head. Could the jeans have been left for the wearer to collect upon his return from whatever jaunt caused them to be discarded? Or were they cast aside after the realization that the events of the impending evening no longer required pants? Has it become socially acceptable to remove one's pants in public and toss them into the bushes?
And if so -- why didn't anyone tell me?
4 years ago