Setting: Popscene-330 Ritch St-San Francisco, CA-circa mid 90's.
Three friends (2 guys and a girl) are sitting on the stage, at a little table by the DJ, talking and people watching. As they sit there, the girl leans back and rocks her feet back and forth on the chunky heels of her giant black (& pricey!) Luchiny platforms. From this position, she can best convey an air of jaded indifference. Too much enthusiasm would be, well, just sort of...distasteful. (sends the wrong message). She decides to go over to the bar and order a drink. She steps off of the stage and saunters across the club, her walk showing just the right mixture of boredom and confidence. She's thinking she's pret-ty hot shit, people are sort of staring at her, and she just knows it's 'cause she's looking good, hair & make-up done just right, slinky black dress & fishnet stockings, good looking cleavage showing, pulling off the slightly Goth-girl look better than most. She acknowledges one or two people with a smile that suggests she knows she's cooler than they are, but still, she's a sweet person, and willing to deign and be friendly enough to indulge them with a bit of her gracious attention. She orders her drink, (a Midori sour, if I'm not mistaken), and then makes to lean back onto the bar.
Only, and here's the thing, when she leans back, she falls BAM! flat to the floor, drink falling & splashing, ice cubes shooting everywhere, wet all down the good cleavage, legs going in six directions at once, dress pulling alarmingly above her knees, surprised isn't even the word, what the f*ck just happened?, people staring, staring, and what's this?? She looks down at her feet, and... there are no longer any HEELS on her shoes. Dumfounded, (and no longer feeling all that "cool") she gets up, brushes off, and starts to look around.
Over on the stage. Two guys, they look really young, both laughing and dancing, one of them with chunky black high heels underneath his white tennis shoes. Wait. What? ... Yes. HER heels. Both of them! The ones that are no longer attached to her shoes! She unbuckles the broken remnants of her expensive Luchinys, purchased on Haight Street just a week before, and hobbles in stocking feet over to the kid to get her heels back, realizing as she skulks away that she had to have walked all the way from the stage, across the club to the bar, only putting her weight on the front of her platform monsters. That's why people were staring (probably). What are the odds? I mean, really. What are the odds, that two heels would break and fall off of shoes at the exact same moment in time, and that the person wearing said shoes wouldn't notice that it had happened until it was way too late? Who else would this happen to? No one else. Something this ridiculous could never happen to anyone else. Just me.
That's right, I am that girl.
*Adding a little insult to injury, later on that evening, I was confronted by security, and unceremoniously escorted out of the club for dancing with no shoes on. I showed the extremely tall and beefy muscle bound security guard my broken heel-less shoes, ("what am I supposed to do, I don't carry spares!") but that didn't stop him from clutching onto my arm like I was a dangerous criminal and physically pulling me from the premises. He wouldn't even let me find my friends to tell them what had happened, I just had the chance as he was forcefully pulling me out to yell at an acquaintance "Get Jesse! Tell him they're kicking me out!" before I was man-handled and shoved outside. (that security guard was later fired, thanks in no small part to my scathing complaints about the way I had been treated).
<3
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