Public Shoe Sniffer

The skinny customer-mistress at the head of the queue, aided and abetted by her supportive husband, is having me sniff the outsides of her shoes. That’s right – the outsides of her shoes! Her manly husband says he wants me to smell where his pretty wife has been walking, and, being a free man, he has every right to insist on it! And so, I have been ordered to keep my mouth shut, and to audibly sniff at the sneakered foot outstretched before me.

Behind the happy couple are a tattooed tennis-girl, and a nosepicking Ms Karen madam – both waiting patiently for the outsides of their own shoes (or boots in the case of Ms Karen) to be sniffed. And as I look down the line at my various customers’ chosen footwear, and at the different colours, styles and textures of their socks, I am reminded that each and every one of them is my infinite better, whatever their personal shortcomings or imperfections – and that it is an honour and a privilege for a mere humble head like me to sniff where these people have been walking, on the outsides of their shoes.

I am truly humbled by that thought, and rightly so. For it is a reminder that I am just downtrodden, public footservant, and that even the dirt on my superiors’ shoes is going places that I can never aspire to go to!















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