Attention, Walmart Shoppers

As Lily approached her first birthday, we were struggling to make our mortgage payments and the reality of being a stay home mom was quickly becoming an impossibility. Our house was filled with tension as the days went by and our credit card debt climbed. I perused the help wanted ads with tears in my eyes, knowing that I’d be miserable returning to a job. But, Jeff and I were both aware that something had to give. And then I got the phone call, “… amazing opportunity… Chattanooga… we really need to talk…” Tennessee?? It may as well have been the moon, for this born and bread east coast girl. But it made sense. Between the cost of living and the new salary, I wouldn’t have to get a job. And he really, really wanted this one.

Fast forward a few weeks: The preliminary interviews went swimmingly and his heart was in it. For his final interview, the company flew me down as well. Jeff had made it clear that it was I, not he, who needed the convincing. In typical Jeff form, a new outfit was purchased and charged on the maxed out MasterCard– this was the interview of his young lifetime, and his tired wardrobe just wouldn’t do. I was instructed not to pack him– he didn’t trust me to get it right. The new suit, shirt, tie and shoes needed to be packed properly, and I was incapable. So, bags personally packed, I begrudgingly joined him on trip down south.

Flights were delayed and our dinner time arrival became a midnight one. Exhausted and grumpy, I collapsed on the bed after we checked into the hotel. Jeff’s interviews began promptly at eight o’clock the following morning, and he began unpacking and hanging his clothes in the closet. Shitfuckshit, I heard echo through the hotel room. I darted over. What’s the matter, I tentatively asked? Unable to even get the words out he pointed to the floor. Sitting next to his suitcase were two sad shoes. Two left shoes. One was brown and one was black. (How do you even make such a mistake? I still don’t understand.) At this point he was basically hyperventilating, the veins in his forehead pulsing and a glazed look I didn’t recognize in his eyes.

Biting my tongue from responding, “if you’d have just let me pack, you’d have the right shoes,” I took a more pragmatic approach. I ran to the front desk, hoping they might have a lost and found that miraculously contained a pair of black dress shoes. Or an attendant with size eleven feet. The chances were not good. As I walked down the hall I spotted a pair of well dressed feet walking towards me. What size shoe do you wear, I asked the random man? Eight and half, he replied oddly, probably embarrassed of the correlation he thought I had made. Unimpressed, I continued towards the lobby. The man at the front desk wore sneakers. There was no lost and found. We were screwed. There’s a Walmart, Ma’am, that’s your only hope, the attendant informed me. I advised a frantic Jeff of my plan and, directions in hand, drove the rental car to Tennessee’s only midnight boutique.

A Walmart virgin at the time, the store overwhelmed me. I walked in and was presented with an advertisement for produce, shampoo and handguns. At the moment I felt like I could benefit from all three. Running down the isles like a lunatic, I spotted them. A pair of faux leather “dress” shoes, they would look dashing with his designer shirt. A mere $12.99 later and I was off.

Back at the hotel, not only did they fit, but they actually looked halfway decent. And their squeaking served as a unique ice breaker a few hours later at his interviews. We were later presented with an offer even I couldn’t refuse. We lived happily there for three years. When I got pregnant with Evan we returned to the family and familiarity of home, having mixed feelings about leaving. Jeff adored his job. We’d made wonderful friends, discovered great dining, museums and parks. It was actually a pretty wonderful place to live. And every time I drove out towards the mall, I’d smile as I passed a life saving little store, called Walmart.