The sound of the "Clonk"

On my way, I got a coffee and observed...

The sound that I hate the most is not nails scratching against a chalkboard, or ultra high pitched sounds, or even many Kenny G. songs. The sound that most annoys me is the sound of clunking high heels. Yes, high heels clunking against the pavement "clonk, clonk, clonk". Now of course there is a reason for this hatred, but I didn't always dislike this sound. When I was a little girl, my mother would dress my sister and I up in Sunday's best and then zip us off to church. My favorite outfit  was always the floral patterned dress with frilled white laced socks and of course my black dress shoes that buckled on the side. One Sunday morning I was the only one dressed and ready to go, so I waited in the kitchen for the rest of the fam. As I waited, I placed my black, round-toed shoes onto my feet and squinted my eyes to find just the right hole to secure the buckle of each shoe. I stood up and walked around the kitchen. The tiles on the floor made 1" diamonds inside groups of larger squares. Delicately I placed my small feet on each diamond and began to do this throughout the kitchen. Oh, the crisp sound of dress shoes clunking against the floor. I stared down at my feet and began to stomp on the floor, because the heel of the shoe made a much louder sound. Of course my enjoyment was interrupted when my mother came in to control my stomping session. I had always heard my mother and other women stomp around in them, why shouldn't I? Regardless, this is the sound I hate the most...

Power, control, and dominance are only a few of the traits portrayed by high heels and the women who wear them. Yes, I am a woman and occasionally I will submit to wearing the high heel, but I try not to. It isn't because I don't think they are cute or because I am a feminist and I think its demeaning towards women. All of that aside, something happens to women when they put those damn shoes on and strut around town. Some of them do not even pick their feet off the ground, they just let them scoooot across. That is another subject all together. Anyway, let me explain...

I got stuck behind a pair on my way to one of my various jobs. I stepped off the 4 train at Brooklyn Bridge and began my journey to Battery Park City. The sun was shining and the air was still a bit chilly. I strolled through the park across from City Hall and found my way to Starbucks to grab a coffee. Time remaining: 10 minutes. Runners jogged by and people shuffled throughout the sidewalk to begin their busy work day. I reached the overpass that crosses over to West End Avenue. On my journey, I am surrounded by suits, briefcases, and HIGH HEELS! I looked down at my tennis shoes and thought of my ornate clothing attire: sweat pants, tennis shoes, and a pullover. I was a bag lady amongst a cloud of corporate workers. Then, I noticed that in front of me was a woman, 3 inches taller than me. I looked down at her 3 inch heels and how they clunked swiftly in front of her. Her perfectly straightened, long black hair swayed to the left and to the right with each stomp. My eyes followed her clonkers and I could feel my eyes widening and my neck protruding off of my spine to get a better look at this woman. Quickly I shook my head and told myself,  "get a grip!" However, I could not contain the frustration within me. So I decided to maneuver around her and head to the right. As I tried to free myself from the "clonk" she veered to the right and I was still behind the long black hair. Ok, then I tried to head to the left. Again, she goes to the left. "What?" I wondered. "Does she have eyes in the back of her clonkers?" Finally, I see some stairs approaching. FREEDOM! Swiftly, I manage to get to the left side of the clonk lady and head up the steep stairs. A silver railing separated two sides of the stairway. She took the right, I the left. Then, I noticed that she was directly beside me on the opposite side of the rail, climbing at warp speed, taking on a whopping 2 stair step at a time! "NO, this clonker is not going to up step me!" Suddenly, I found myself competing with this woman of the high heeled club. I sprinted up the stairs, trying to keep up with her. The heat was on and my heart was racing. Soon, we reached the top and I approached the last step, winning by two seconds! 

I am proud to say that all of this was done with my coffee in hand.

A race against job status? Perhaps.. or it could be a race against the extinction of the tennis shoe.