Shoe buying a total Croc

My wife and I adhere to a pretty strict “no shoes in the house” policy. Mainly because, well, the ground is gross. Just stand at a urinal in any men’s room and look down. Men, you know what I’m talking about. Ladies, you can imagine. Do you really want that traipsing all over your living-room carpet? We adhere to other sanitary measures that might seem profound but really make good sense. But for all our neuroticism, what we allow (not only allow but welcome) in the house are a couple of crocs. Despite their bad rap, they’re, clean, quiet, and more well-mannered than you’d expect. And inviting—let’s not forget that. But getting them to your house, is a whole other story.

Three weeks ago, two crocs hopped on a truck in California and attempted a cross-country journey. Sounds like the beginning a of a joke, right? It’s not. It is, however, the beginning of a purchase, and I’m not talking about buying those swamp mongrels from the lower states. I’m talking about buying shoes.

Crocs.

In 2002, Crocs hit the streets (literally) with both huge praise and criticism, the biggest criticism of all being, “They look stupid.”

I’m not sorry to say I was a critic because they do look stupid. I tagged them as gimmicky, was irritated by their popularity, and practically scoffed at anyone I saw wearing them—even kids.

I don’t know why I had such an adverse reaction to shoe apparel, which I don’t care much about, but I did. And I wasn’t the only one. Major media personalities, celebrities, and even politicians jumped on the “Crocs are a total croc” bandwagon. The shoes were/are annoying.

Then one day five years ago, my whole perspective on Crocs change in a single step.

My wife and I went shoe shopping…wait, let me clarify; my wife went shoe shopping and dragged me along…and while my wife underwent her unpleasant transformation from “sensible woman” to “shoe hunter,” I wandered the aisles, thinking shoe stores should really have a men’s lounge in the back to hide out in while their wives, girlfriends, and daughters turned into savages. That’s when I came upon the inevitable Croc section and briefly entertained my own savagery. I wanted to rip out ever tongue I came across, never mind Crocs don’t have tongues. They’re made of rubber and can’t decide when they’re a shoe or a sandal.

Wondering what all the fuss was about and ignoring my baser judgments, I decided to try on a pair when I discovered that not all Crocs suffered the same personality disorder as their earlier models. I picked a pair of canvas Crocs, that were actual shoes, found my size nines, and put them on.

Sadly, irritatingly, they were by far the most comfortable pair of shoes I ever stepped in.

It was like walking on a heavenly cloud. All at once, my pride to turned envy. I had to have them. Luckily, the register kiosk was only a few feet away (no pun intended). One swipe of my credit card, and I became a the owner of a pair of Crocs. I wore them straight out of the store and continued to wear them until they fell off my feet two years ago.

Despite my outlandish misgivings, my original purchase of Crocs was far less comical than my most recent.

Crocs don’t offer much in the way of warmth. With a coldblooded name like that, does it surprise you? As I mentioned, they’re made of rubber and are as full of holes as Swiss cheese. Unlined rubber plus holes plus Chicago winter, you do the math.

Enter Blitzen.

No, not Santa’s reindeer but the name of Crocs’ less-holed, fur-lined shoe. “Available at discount for a limited time” at crocs.com (at the time of purchase).

Winter approaching, I ordered a pair.

The purchase was easy but them arriving was about what you’d expect from a pair of reptiles trying to cross the country.

The shoes started their journey on a FedEx truck out of Bloomington, California and the first leg went smooth as a steadily rising stock option: Bloomington, CA, to Happy Jack, AZ, to Santa Rosa, NM, to Cuervo, NM, to Clarendon, TX, to Depew, OK, to Dwight, IL, to Chicago, IL.

I charted the course through FedEx’s tracking, and when I saw the shoes hit Chicago, I thought, “Okay, now hang a left, and I’ll see you in an hour.”

But here’s where things went screwy.

From Chicago, the shoes were routed to New Berlin, WI. A little out of the way, but fine, I’ll go with it. But instead of going from New Berlin to Huntley, they went back to Chicago. A day later, they went back to New Berlin, and the day after that, where did they go? Back to Chicago. Up, down, up, down, back, forth, back, forth. Finally, they were routed to Huntley, where they were transferred into the care of the USPS for delivery. On the day of arrival, I watched out my window for the familiar white Postal truck but who actually delivered the shoes? A man driving a U-Haul.

So to break it down:

FedEx from California to Chicago to New Berlin to Chicago to New Berlin to Chicago to Huntley to the USPS to U-Haul.

But what can you expect from a pair of crocs dressed up like reindeer?

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