i've been birkenstocked.

i like birkenstocks, i really do. i think they're kind of cute, in a ... homely ... fashion.
(i just used the word "fashion" to describe birkenstocks. you know this blog is gonna be good.)

since my foot injury, footwear options have been severely limited - mostly to supportive tennis shoes, bulky mary janes, and the occasional briefly worn ballet flat. this summer, i broke the mold and bravely stepped out in my rainbow flipflops. that didn't work so well.

the search for a supportive sandal led me to the birkenstock.
hippy mama of sandals.
now we're talking.

my search for a birkenstock led me to a custom arch support store in gresham that shall remain nameless (and is on the corner of powell and burnside across the parking lot from starbucks right next to the quizno's and the snowboard shop).

yesterday evening, i walked into the nameless store. i was immediately accosted by a well dressed, tall man who looked like will smith, babbling something incomprehensible that (judging from his awkward laugh-smile) was a joke. i smiled, and explained politely that i wanted to buy birkenstocks.

i believe what he heard was: "i want avacado green go-go boots, 6 inch platform, please."
the man contorted his face clownishly, and asked why i thought i wanted birkenstocks.

somewhat taken aback, i explained that my foot was crushed in an accident and i need supportive sandals.

my mistake.

this, apparently, was his cue to launch into a 30 minute lecture on orthotics, which he was shocked, shocked, that none of my doctors had recommended. the lecture included powerpoint demonstrations, a mispronounced survey of the tendons of the foot, and multiple repetitions of the same questions (to which i obligingly gave the same answer every time).

after the lecture, mr. will-smith-guy was sure he had the right sandal for me. he reverently placed before me an orthotic sandal - the answer to all my foot problems!
the thing was hideous.
more than that, it chafed against my sensitive, scarred skin.
fed up at this point, i explained that i really just wanted to buy birkenstocks.

poor man. he was crestfallen. after a few parting shots on the terrible consequences i was bringing upon my orthotic-less feet, he allowed me to try on birkenstocks ...
and sent out the manager.

so close to freedom ... and yet so far.
the manager began his desperate spiel by asking if we really understood what his underling was explaining about orthotics. next, he advised us to check out their website, and (because apparently we look like we can't tell a url from an insole), spent 10 minutes walking us through their website in the store.

finally we extracted ourselves from their clutches - hungry, exhausted, with a manic glint in our eyes. their parting words: "send us some customers, ok?!?"

... right