flâneur

The Greeter | By T Kira Madden | Issue 519 | The Sun Magazine

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They call me the Greeter. I sell shoes at the Boca Raton Town Center mall — bedazzled stilettos and platforms, neon-strapped pumps saved for special occasions. I stand by the entrance of the store, heels dug into the carpet, tummy tucked in, and I greet people. Hi, how are you, sunshine? Have you seen our shoes today? I wear sparkling eye shadow for the job. Smooth down the shine of my hair with coconut-scented spray. I bend at just the right angle as I crawl on the floor, my legs spread like a dumb secretary in the movies, the perfect C-curve of my waist. I pull the shoes out of their boxes, the tissue paper out of the shoes. I slip them on one foot, then the other, and secure them just right. That’s a perfect fit, I say, propped up on my knees. Take a walk in them. No heel grips necessary, no insoles, no pads. I know how to fit a shoe. You’re adorable, the customers will say. How old are you? Sixteen, I say. The customers hand over their credit cards, and I make my dimples show. Woul

The Greeter | The Sun Magazine © Ann Hubard Essays, Memoirs & True Stories The Greeter By T Kira Madden • March 2019 Print Print Share Email Facebook Twitter They call me the Greeter. I sell shoes at the Boca Raton Town Center mall - bedazzled stilettos and platforms, neon-strapped pumps saved for special occasions. I stand by the entrance of the store, heels dug into the carpet, tummy tucked in, and I greet people. Hi, how are you, sunshine? Have you seen our shoes today? I wear sparkling eye shadow for the job. Smooth down the shine of my hair with coconut-scented spray. I bend at just the r

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