On Squeaky Shoes

This morning, while sitting on the 5th floor benches in the hall of the Law Building reading ‘Hegel’s Theory of the Modern State’ (which is a great book, by the way, if you want to die but just can’t find the motivation to do something about it yourself), I kept one eye on my book and one eye on people’s feet as they walked by. Not that I have a thing for shoes, but because then I’d know if it was a man or woman, and by the breadth of the leg I’d know whether there was something worth looking up to see (except with men and effeminate shoes – you guys are fucking up the system). Anyway, I noticed a girl walking by with squeaky shoes. It was only me and her in the hallway, and she seemed embarrassed, stopped, adjusted her shoe, and walked on, squeaking away. This made me smile. Not because I was looking down upon her and her squeaky shoes, but because of the basic universal truth of self-consciousness – I know I do the same stuff, be it squeaky shoes, being the shortest person in most rooms (or so it seems), or the ever-present hair or face or skin conditions (crabs?) that I’m sure everyone else is noticing and making fun of. As it turns out, the vast majority of the time, everyone else is worrying about their own hair or face or crabs, and barely notice yours. So be it her squeaky shoes or mine, I can’t help but smile before returning to my book. (stupid Hegel)