Culture Shock #37: Germans can put on their own shoes

I would like to start this blog post by commending myself for being very brave. Granted, the incident I am referring to is not an act of conscious bravery. At the time, I didn't have the capacity to internalize the fact that going to a store in Freiburg that exclusively sells hiking equipment might be a bit of an undertaking. It was just an errand. Something to check off my To-Do list. 

The many bearded bespectacled employees at ADCO ("Adventure Company" - nice and vague there, makes ya look twice at all that rope they've got hanging around the place) seemed to immediately notice that I had not yet internalized the fact that shopping at their store would be an undertaking. Within five seconds of me entering the place, the youngest of the bearded bestpectacled employees approached me. "Kann ich Ihnen helfen?" He wanted to know if he could help me with anything. I took a quick glance around the store, walls covered in every color, brand, style, and shape of hiking shoe a German could ever wish for. "Ja." I said dumbly. "Ich brauche Wanderschuhe." 

The employee stared at me expectantly. Apparently telling him I needed hiking shoes was not enough information. Perhaps this much was already a given. Unfortunately, this is all the information I had for him. Or so I thought. As soon as he realized I wouldn't be saying anything else in the near future without being further prompted, we entered a rapidfire back-and-forth that made me deeply question the ADCO employee training manual. 

    Where would you like to go hiking? (Greece)

    During this time of year? (In August)

    In AUGUST? (Yes, in August)

    What kind of hiking boots do you have now? (I don't have hiking boots now)

    You don't have hiking boots now? (I don't have hiking boots now)

    *Moment of Silent German Disbelief*

    What kind of hiking boots do you want? (Uhh, boots that go up to here? *I point at my ankle*)

    *Another Moment of Silent German Disbelief*

    Okay I'm just going to bring some options. (Yeah that sounds good)

At this point, I felt like I'd just jumped into a pool I expected to be pleasantly warm but instead was shockingly cold. I thought I knew how to shop for shoes. We have shoes in the United States. I have frequented many a shoe store, bought myself many a pair. This experience was clearly going to be very different. Although...maybe the worst was over? I survived the Formal Interview, now the rest should be smooth-sailing. I know how to try on shoes....right?

He measures me. Blows a lot of air out of his mouth. "This should be interesting", he says matter-of-factly, in reference to my tiny feet. I watch him lumber down to the basement to see if he can find anything in my size. He comes back up with his arms full of boxes, sets them on the ground. I kick off my Birkenstocks and pull on the pair of socks I stuffed in my tote bag that morning (no, I'm not rocking Birks and Socks in 90 degree heat, thank you very much). I open the box nearest to me. It's exactly what you'd imagine a hiking shoe to look like. He kneels down to look at the shoe with me. I stick my foot out. He looks at my foot. I look at my foot. I look at the hiking shoe. He looks at the hiking shoe. I look at him. He looks at me. 

Jesus fucking christ of course Germans put their own damn shoes on in a shoe store. What the hell are we doing in the U.S., letting shoe salespeople put shoes on for us? Who do I think I am, Cinderella?

My cheeks burn as I scramble to pull the hiking boot onto my foot. Wrong foot. Fuuuuuuuuck. I wanna get out of here. It's too late. I'm in too deep. There are so many boxes. It takes me three eternities to finally figure out how to lace them up correctly. I stand up, ready to at least nail the part where I take me and the shoes on a walk. 

    Ready to try them out? (Uh, what?)

    Follow me.

We make our way through the store. What does he mean "try them out?". Is he taking me and the shoes on a walk? We reach the back of the store. I spot a metal ramp with widely-spaced rungs, slanted at a steep 45 degree angle. Behind the ramp, a patch of cobblestone set into the floor. Beyond the cobblestone, literal rocks glued to the floor, in varying sizes comparable to eveything from grapefruits to watermelons. Finally, at the back wall, logs stacked haphazardly atop each other. 

    Okay, go for it.

Lord have mercy on my soul this is a hiking simulation. That I am about to do in front of Young Bearded Bespectacled Employee like a child scampering around a playground in front of their parents. I feel ridiculous. What do you do with your arms when you hike? Pinned by your sides feels like a no-go. But holding them at 90-degree angles gives me Karen On A Speedwalk 'Round The Cul-De-Sac In Her Juicy Joggers energy. I approach the ramp with limp arms.

    Oh, go up the ramp backwards. It helps assess the fit of the shoe.

OH GOOD. BACKWARDS RAMP CLIMBING! Just what I had in mind for a Saturday afternoon in a very public setting. Because yes, other customers are now watching me. Shouldn't native Germans be used to this? I must be doing something wrong. I feel like I'm doing everything wrong. 

Somehow, I make it up the metal ramp of doom, across the sea of cobblestone, over and under the stones of various fruit sizes, and through the lumberjack lagoon. The boots hug my ankles and secure my tred. Hell, I almost feel like a real hiker. I jump off the last log proudly, looking at Young Bearded  Bespectacled Employee for feedback. He raises his eyebrows at me, points to the pile of shoeboxes waiting back by my seat. 

    Next pair?

Guess I found my workout of the day.