VANS: Bottom of the Barrel

(Yes, the shoes are enormous AND his toenails are blue)

VANS slip-ons bring back fond memories of Socal, sun-bleached hair, the call of the beach.

Here in Seattle, we may not have enough sun, nor the crash of waves, but the VANS company wants its salespeople to look the part.  Peroxide bleached hair, check.  Fake-baked to a rich mahogany hue, check. IQ maxed at 75, check. 

Last weekend, my 5-yr old son decided that some cool VANS were the school shoe of choice this year. Not great for arch support, the mom in me thought, but the absence of laces would be a daily time-savings bonus.  Great choice, I agreed. 

The Bellevue Square VANS store wasn't crowded, but all three sales people had customers, so we scanned the wall o'shoes while waiting our turn.  Not that I don't love to wait for long stretches of time  while being studiously ignored (apparently the concept of eye contact and a quick, "I'll be right with you," doesn't exist in skaterville), but I did have to summon all my patience because I knew that the selection here greatly surpassed what was available at Nordstrom next door.

When I finally managed to flag down a salesgirl, I was saddened to observe that she was overwhelmed with multi-tasking, barely able to acknowledge us, while simultaneously stacking the boxes of unpurchased shoes from the last customer.  Saddened, that is, until I started blacking out from the purgatory of her smoker's breath, a noxious cloud that threatened to drive me straight out of the store.  Somehow, through sheer strength of will, I regained my composure, readjusted my personal space to keep her a safe three feet away, and asked her to measure my son's feet for size.

She pulled out a measuring device, as shown here, a variation of which is found in all shoe stores.  Simple.

The first thing I noticed when she told me my son's feet were a size 2, which meant they had virtually doubled in size this summer, was that she incorrectly measured, leaving an enormous gap between his heel and the back edge .  I tried to be polite and not call attention to her obvious ineptitude , and instead, asked my son to stand on the device again, sliding his foot back, as she measured.  This time, it indicated that his feet had still grown several sizes, which seemed impossible, so I took it upon myself to do the measurement, after she left to retrieve his shoes. This is when I realized that she had been using the device backward, placing his heels against the wrong end. Oy. 

Which explains the photo on top.  Needless to say, the shoes didn't fit.

Anyway, I asked her to bring the accurate size at this point, which was a 10.5, to bypass the painstakingly long, multi-step process of her own discovery.  However, unwilling to budge on the full shoe-shopping experience,  the salesgirl brought the correct size, but the wrong color.  If commission is paid on effort and time wasted, this girl is in the money.

In the end, though I had to embrace my inner calm to endure this experience, my son ended up with shoes he loves, in the correct size, which is mission accomplished.  Sigh.