Missing my Crocs

This story actually begins back in January, on an uncharacteristically cold night for North Carolina, when Jonathan and I were driving home from the airport after a family vacation on the Oregon coast. Our flight didn't get in until midnight, and at that time I'm pretty sure they've only got one guy loading and unloading luggage, so it took us forever to get out of the airport. By the time we were getting close to home it was 1:30 in the morning - way past our normal bedtime. We were driving along chatting about nothing to pass the time when all of a sudden a young woman came flying out of the darkness towards the highway, flailing her arms and screaming for help. Jumping in our seats from the near heart attack it gave us, we took a second to get our breath back and pulled over to see what was wrong.

I know, I know, we were stupid to pull over, and we're lucky nothing happened to us. I tend to be entirely too trusting. On this particular night no harm came from my naivete, but I'll try to be more careful in the future. Anyway, the young woman on the side of the road had been in a friend's car with her boyfriend when an argument broke out, and the friend's solution to their argument had been to slow down on the side of the highway and push this girl out of the car with no shoes and no jacket. It was 24 degrees outside.

The very abbreviated version of this story is that we put the young lady in our car, and after some other adventures, she ended up spending the night in our guest room, as the keys to her apartment were still in the friend's car. Drugs and alcohol were certainly a factor in her evening, so the whole thing was pretty manic, but even despite that it was clear that this young woman was actually very likeable. After we warmed her feet in the bathtub, I gave her a sweatshirt and sweatpants to wear, which she swam in - she weighs about 90 pounds soaking wet.

The next morning we got to the business of finding her some help: buying her a toothbrush, connecting her with friends, trying to retrieve her stuff, etc. When we left the house, I grabbed my Crocs for her to throw on over the socks she was wearing. Any of my shoes would have been hopelessly large, so the lightweight slip on shoes seemed the most reasonable option.

Now, a word about my Crocs. I LOVE those shoes. I saw them on a waitress in Asheville two summers ago and promptly went home and ordered them on-line. The thing that makes them so great is that I can wear them to work in the warmer weather, but it still feels like I'm wearing my flip flops. Those Crocs liberate me somehow when I'm forced to dress like an adult on beautiful summer days when I'd rather be at the beach. They were my favorite summer shoe last summer. But two factors were in play when I gave them to this young woman that day. First, it was winter. We all know how hard it is to remember how much we value our summer attire when it's too cold to even consider wearing shoes with no socks. And second, a month prior to this event our washing machine had broken and a small flood followed in our garage. When Jonathan and I frantically picked up items off the garage floor and dealt with all that water, I had worn my Crocs. What better shoe to deal with flooding than a light plastic one? But I hadn't gotten around to caring for them after the flood. There was no rush, after all, because it was cold out. All of this is to say I had temporarily forgotten the importance of the Croc.

Fast forward to today. It's 80 degrees outside and beautiful. My summer work wardrobe is back in my closet, and I am avoiding wearing socks at any possible cost. Our winter guest is happily (I hope) settled back in her apartment and is living her life, and my sweathshirt, sweatpants, and Crocs, I presume, are in a pile somewhere in her apartment. And I, simply put, am desperate to have those Crocs again. When we said goodbye that day in January she assured me that she'd be in touch and return my things, but I knew I'd never hear from her. That would have been 6 days before Jonathan and I decided to do the Stuff Stand-off. At that point, I figured I'd have a good excuse to buy myself a brand new pair of my favorite Crocs.

Jonathan actually saw our friend the other day while picking up a sandwich downtown, and she asked for my number so we could have lunch and she could return my things. When he told me this, I grasped his arm. "Next time you see her," I begged, "tell her she doesn't have to have lunch with me. I don't feel like she owes me anything. But please... please ask her if I can have my Crocs back!"

I have little hope for their return. I imagine in the end it might be tremendously awkward for her to be in touch with me, as I think she associates me with one of the worst nights of her life - and who can blame her for that? And ultimately, I don't regret helping her that night. It helped me more than it helped her I think. But I can't help but hear one of my boss' little sayings in my head - shaking his head and laughing he'll often mutter: "No good deed goes unpunished, you know?"

You're not kidding buddy. I wish that young woman only the very best, and think of her fondly. But boy do I miss those Crocs...