Mandy has a million pairs of shoes. She needed a pair to be fixed, so we headed out to Paul’s Shoe Repair in Westbrook. There are a few different cobblers in the area, and it’s one of those things that it seems like everyone has an opinion about. Mary likes the one on Stevens Avenue; Rebecca likes the guy in South Portland, etc. It’s like finding a locksmith or a taylor- something you never think about until you desperately need one. Since I love giving directions to places and I love being right, I always want to know what the best places in town are. I think I’m the only person I know that’s ever been to Paul’s to have shoes repaired, and although it seemed pricey ($50 to repair and resole my boots,) the work was quality, so I didn’t question Mandy’s decision to give this guy her business over the other guys in town. Since my office used to be in Westbrook, and I know that town like the back of my hand, I was able tell her where to park and the fastest way to get there. We even stopped by Mich's work on our way home, just like old times. The shoes in question were bought on Heather’s Etsy, and the tap on the heel crumbled as soon as she got them home. Heather gave her a refund, but they’re too amazing to just cast aside.
It’s a sunny Friday afternoon when we arrive at Paul’s. The counter is directly in front of the door when you walk in, and we are immediately greeted by a 50-something year old man we can only assume is Paul. It’s like being on stage. There’s no time to look around, gather a feel for the place, talk in low voices to each other to decide what we think. Immediately, you have to state the nature of your business. You know how if you walk into a furniture store, or a record store or the Apple store, wherever, and someone approaches you and you turn them away to say no, you’re just looking, or you need a moment? That was not the case. After a short lecture about how she could’ve ruined the shoes and that she should’ve brought them in immediately after the taps fell off, he quoted her twenty dollars. Twenty dollars happened to be her preset limit, so we’re good to go. He’s friendly, in kind of a fatherly way, and since Mandy and I are customer service veterans, we know how to turn on the charm and small talk. I would’ve gone with the whole boring, so, how long have you had the business, are you from around here, etc. Boring, right? But she jumps in and starts explaining that there were many other cobblers that she could’ve gone to, a subject I feel sort of uncomfortable about, and I have no idea where she’s going with this. So, she’s like, “This isn’t the most convenient location, and you didn’t get the best recommendation, but when I found out there was a cobbler in a train car by the tracks in Westbrook I knew I just had to come! I love trains, my great grandfather spent half his life on a train, I used to manage the Narrow Gauge Railroad… if there’s anything I know and love, its trains. I am a train expert! I even had a one night stand with the man who drives the Amtrack Downeaster!” (Oh, wait… that last part… that was me.) She is really enthusiastic about this whole train car thing and makes it explicitly clear to this guy.
Paul is holding her debit card in his hands, up high in the air, as if he’s going to conduct an orchestra with it. He’s about to run in through the machine, stops, and says, “Maybe I shouldn’t run this.” Mandy looks confused, and Paul gets serious. “Because… this isn’t a train car. It’s a mobile home I painted to look like a train car.”
Nice job, train expert, identifying the train car. We leave sheepishly, Mandy's tail is tucked between her legs, and yes, it is so. obviously. a trailer.
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