On Deaf Ears
Regular, and very beautiful, 20 year old customer-mistress Ms Saira Madam only ever talks to me to bark down her orders at me in an unfriendly, monotonous and matter-of-fact, though never overly aggressive, tone of voice. Today, for example, she is concerned about dirt accumulating around the logos on her sneakers, and so she leans down to point out the particular areas of dirt she wishes lickshined away whilst delivering her monotone instructions.
She then sits back, relaxes, and drinks from her bottled water, occasionally clearing phlegm from her throat, whilst I taste where she has been walking from the surfaces of her sneakers (or, more accurately, where she has been running – she’s very fit!)
Ms Saira Madam, like the vast majority of my customers, is not wont to converse with me whilst I get on with my humble business of lickshining her footwear. And rightly so, for I am, self-evidently, a lesser being than her – kneeling on the ground on my bony knees before her whilst she relaxes in the comfortable high chair of power above me. I mean, even an alien from outer space would recognise who is the superior, and who the inferior, in such a scene!
Nevertheless, it’s a shame I am not permitted to speak to her, for there are so many things I would like to know about her – or, more accurately, about her sneakers and socks, since they are what dominate not just my field of vision at the moment, but also my senses of taste, smell and touch; indeed, my whole life!
If I could talk, I would ask her about:
· The provenance of the dirt on her sneakers. Is it from the pavements? Or the park? Or her university campus (I believe she is studying Female Law)? Or a glorious mixture of all three?
· What about the sneakers themselves? How long has she had them? What size are they? Are they comfortable on her pretty feet? Were they a gift, perchance, from her boyfriend? (I know she has a boyfriend because I have ‘met’ him – or rather, I have lickshined his brown loafer shoes in front of her!)
· And, although customer-mistress Ms Saira madam has not mentioned them herself, I am equally intrigued to find out more about her short, grey anklesocks. Did they come in a pack of 3? Or 4? Or 5? Or were they purchased as an individual pair? How much did they cost (they are bound to be worth more than me on the open market, for they are a pair of femalesocks, and will now be worth even more than they were when first purchased, as they have since adorned the feet of such a beautiful and dynamic, young woman, and are therefore imbued with her precious, feminine footsweat and feet-DNA!)
· Are her grey socks comfortable on her feet? I can see they are somewhat wonky and creased in places; would she like me to straighten them for her – with my nose – and would she mind terribly if I breathed in through my nose whilst I did so?
But, all of that is a fantasy conversation, since the Law states I must not speak to my customers unless spoken to, and if all they choose to do is to bark their orders down at me and then effectively sit back and ignore me, then my tongue must restrict itself to doing what it does best – lickshining shoe!
Mind you, as she eventually ups and leaves, again without saying a word, I contemplate how there wouldn’t be much point in my trying to converse with customer-mistress Ms Saira madam whilst my head is humbly bowed and my mouth is full of her sneaker dirt, since she is deaf, and has to lip read, yet I am forbidden by Law to look her in the eye. So she could never see what I am saying.
No, my role is to silently, and obediently, lickshine her dirty sneakers. She is not my friend. She is my customer-master, and I must never forget that I am just a public footslave!
