Anyway, last Sunday morning the station had the official opening of its new premises. This was a formal occasion, with a couple of hundred invited dignitaries and national media representatives, and we were all instructed to present the station in its best and most professional light. I asked one of the presenters I worked with if this meant shoes, and he thought it might but implied that nothing was definitive. So I went without. The opening was garden-party style, so I was dressed neatly and formally with long sleeveless summer dress and a minimum of formal jewellery. Expecting difficulties, I also prepared myself a pair of "shoes". These were a pair of dark green ribbons tied around my ankles, with beads and iridescent ties attached. A matching ribbon went in my hair.
When I arrived (not wearing the anklets) an hour prior to showdown, I was
greeted with "Good morning Tiki, where's your shoes!". So, I sat down
with the two older gentlemen who were enquiring and proceeded to reach
into a tiny pocket, pull out my "shoes" and put them on. They found this
quite hilarious. From then on it was a whirlwind of preparation, platters
of food being prepared, glasses being cleaned and set out, nametags and
ribbons distributed, checking the schedule every five minutes to see what
else was to be done. No-one had time to speak to me again about it, apart
from once when I passed through the foyer at a flat out run looking for
something that had been left on a desk somewhere. The temporarily surplus
volunteers gathered there (all 50+ in years and in the main conservative)
called out to me to stop and "show Ann your shoes", with interest and
humour. But I didn't have time, so I showed them my heels. &
For the rest of that day there was little comment, apart from one chorus
of "Put your Shoes On Lucy" from some of our wartime presenters. At one
point I had to sew the ribbons around my ankles as the ties were fraying
apart, but apart from that the anklets were comfortable and in no way a
hindrance. I much prefer the freedom of movement that comes from being
barefoot, especially when much of my time is spent running here and there
and silence is a requisite.
Almost a week later I was training one of our new volunteers in some of
the essentials of radio practice - courtesy, studio etiquette, handling
gossip and the like. She was wearing socks only, and told me that some of
the other volunteers had asked her jokingly if she was being influenced by
me. She then told me my bare feet had come up as a topic of discussion a
number of times at the opening, usually under the context of "doesn't she
look good like that". Some of them had made a bet with eachother as to
whether I would arrive with or without shoes for the occasion, and
(beautifully) one older lady had remarked "If I were young and pretty like
that I'd be doing it too". I don't mean to be immodest - the comment I
think shows the age and self-perception of the beholder (who is in my eyes
a beautiful, graceful and wise lady no more than one generation my senior)
So on the whole I think people remember you for who you are and how you
treat them as much as any little oddities. They may well feel that it's
not something they could do themselves ("I'd feel naked", "My podiatrist
wouldn't like it", "I'm not young enough to go barefoot" are comments
I've heard from other volunteers), but they will
remember you more for the humour and grace with which you accept _them_
and their little habits (like shoes) than for your feet. That's my
experience, anyway.
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