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Always on the lookout for shoplifters, Laura spotted him while restocking the women's sneakers. The man wore a gray sweatshirt, the elastic at the waistline no longer taut and the lettering all torn away except for one peeling letter, M. His jeans were worn and faded, but not dirty. He took his time, inspecting the tall racks, his finger following the line of shoes up and down but never touching them. Laura sensed nothing threatening.
Moving closer, she could see his toes poking through the tops of his sneakers. Laura imagined her closet floor piled high with shoes--many she had never worn. She had even thrown away nearly brand new shoes just to make room for more she absolutely needed. Here was a man, though, that truly needed shoes. He wasn't shopping to match a new outfit or to stay fashionable, but because he'd soon be left barefoot.
"Can I help you find something?" Laura asked.
The man spoke quietly. Laura thought he sounded a little slow. "I like this one," he said, pointing to a brown oxford, "but I can't find an 8 1/2."
Laura combed the rack without success. Disappointed, the man turned to leave, but Laura told him she'd look in the back. Sure enough, she found an 8 1/2 with yesterday's shipment. He couldn't thank her enough. He tried them on for size, walking around to check the feel of the shoes. He seemed happy with them.
"Are they good shoes?" he asked.
No one had ever asked Laura that question, but everything about retail told her to give him a resounding, "Yes." Her manager would have surely said, "Absolutely." Laura knew, though, that Super Shoes sold low-end footwear, mostly made in China and mostly made with plastic instead of leather. They called it Genuine Manmade Leather. This kept prices down. She remembered the store's jingle, "Super Shoes. Super Prices." The shoes were cheap. That's why she bought them. With her employee discount, they were really cheap.
"We haven't had any complaints about them." It was true, Laura thought.
He walked around a little more and then told her he'd take them.
At the register, the man opened a ragged wallet. The shoes were $16.99. Neither the lowest priced nor the highest. He handed Laura seventeen dollar bills, leaving his wallet empty. He hadn't counted the money either, and later, she wondered if the man could have been looking at the shoes for weeks, even months. Laura gave him a penny and placed the receipt in the box. He thanked her again and then she was alone at the register.
She needed to get back to work, but the man's question kept echoing in her mind: Are they good shoes? He had trusted her, and Laura couldn't help but feel that she had stolen something from him. Her gut ached. If only she could take back her words, start all over, but she knew that she would have only done the same thing.
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