It was a beautiful, late summer morning. A few leaves had changed color here and there as the first harbingers of Autumn. The weekend was so much fun it was like a mini-vacation and he felt refreshed and ready for the upcoming week. There were several matters that needed his attention at work but nothing pressing. He and his wife might even go to a red Sox game that evening.
Striding forth from his home to catch the train, he only made it a few houses up the street before trouble. The sock on his right foot was a Quitter. With each step, it was somehow working it’s way down and off his foot. “Damn,” he thought. There was no time to go back and get another pair of socks. He had to make that train.
At the red-light, he waited to cross and took the time to readjust his shoe. Loosening the laces, pulling up the sock and retying, he was good-to-go when the light turned for him to cross. Unfortunately, the Quitter was at it again, and by the time he took a seat on the train the sock had worked it’s way off his heel and was bunched up near his toes. A fellow commuter watched him take his bare foot out of his shoe and start fumbling with the uncooperative sock.
“Quitter, “ he said sheepishly to the woman and focused on fixing the sock and putting his shoe back on.
She nodded in knowing agreement.
The Quitter was not a problem as he rode on the train but it was right back to its mischief as he walked to the office. By the time he got on the elevator at work, the Quitter was off his heel and bunched up around his toes again. He stood uncomfortably in the back of the elevator as his co-workers chatted it up. Obviously, none of them were dealing with a Quitter.
Thanks to the Quitter, the Monday seemed longer than usual. The constant readjusting, the preoccupation with his uncomfortable foot, the vain hope that the latest fix would be permannent, all of these were a distraction. He thought about throwing the sock out but he didn’t want to get blisters going sock-less with shoes. He regretted not having a spare pair of socks at work. Worse, he didn’t have time to go out and buy a new pair. There was no other choice than to endure the Quitter.
That evening he walked home from the train with the sock worked down over his heel and bunched up in the front of his shoe, again. He didn’t care anymore. He got home, opened the front door and took his shoes off. Then he took his socks off and threw them in the trash.
No one likes a Quitter.
Copyright 2017 Christopher Donahue