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Neon Tommy - Annenberg digital news

Finding Your Solemate

Francesca Ayala |
December 7, 2009 | 8:38 p.m. PST

Staff Reporter

Sometimes it requires a little luck to find your solemate. (Photo by Francesca Ayala)
I hate to admit it, but there is only one thing in this world that I have relentlessly and unabashedly pursued more than guys with boy band good looks and murder trial stories. That thing is a good pair of heels. 
While some consider shopping to be a means to alleviate boredom on a Sunday afternoon, I make a sport of it. 
Back in Manila, when I had a real job (and a couple of other freelance gigs), nearly 30 percent of my paycheck went into my shopping fund. For this reason, I looked forward to sale season, during which all the foreign retail chains in malls all over the city would become jam-packed with rabid bargain hunters. I always found it ironic that a multitude of Filipinos would scramble to fill their closets with the surplus of fall fashion discards, even if we all lived in a country that had no such season. 
These brand-crazed matrons and adolescents would line up outside boutiques hours before they opened. As soon as the doors would open, they would rush to the racks and load up on pea coats, turtlenecks and parkas that they would probably shove in the back of their closest and whip out only to wear on the next family vacation to Europe or simply to survive the overly air-conditioned offices where they worked from 9 to 5.  I, on the other hand, would take this opportunity to peruse the shoe racks for size 6 heels that I could wear, regardless of the temperature.
It was during one of these shopping trips two years ago that I chanced upon the Zara store in the Rockwell Power Plant (Manila's feeble attempt at replicating The Grove). Even if the fall sale season was slowly coming to a close and it was the middle of the afternoon, the store was still buzzing with overzealous shoppers determined to find that last good deal. I perused the store for women's and casual wear only to find that the only sizes left were meant for anorexic debutantes on a diet or pregnant women. I clearly was neither so I began to browse the shoe racks. I saw flats, gladiator heels and leather boots... none, however, were in my size. Dejected, I quickly grabbed a mini-dress that was at least two sizes too small for me and headed to the fitting room.  If I can't find anything to buy, I might as well motivate myself to lose weight by trying on a slutty dress that will tear my self-esteem to shreds, I thought to myself.
It was while I was in line for the fitting room that they caught my eyes. 
Shoved beneath the rack of rejected clothes was a pair of tri-color strappy suede Mary Jane heels. They were red, grey and mustard colored and they were perfect. I hadn't seen another pair like them in the store, so clearly, that was the last pair left. I gave up my place in line to grab them, crossing my fingers and hoping that they were in my size. They were. I immediately chucked the dress made for skinny prosti-tots and tried the shoes on. They fit perfectly. They were comfortable. They were not on sale. Nonetheless, I ran over to the nearest cash register, eager to stake my claim on the shoes before anyone else could take them from me.
The cashier happily rang me up and complimented me on a good buy. As I reached into the depths of my leather Coach purse to locate my wallet, fumbling through the mess of keys, pens, makeup and my reporter's notebook, I soon realized that the unthinkable had happened. I had left my wallet in the car.
Mortified, I pleaded with the sales associates to hang on the shoes until I could return the next day. I had an interview that I had to get to in the next half hour. They explained that there was a 24-hour period during which they could reserve an item in the store, so I gladly left my name and contact information with them and dashed to my appointment.
I returned the next day in the late afternoon to claim my prize. When I asked for the heels, the sales associates looked at each other awkwardly before explaining to me that I hadn't returned within the allotted 24-hour hold period and they had, in fact, sold the shoes to someone else.
I was livid. "What the hell kind of backdoor bodega are you running if you can't even hold a pair of shoes for a regular customer?" I yelled. They apologized profusely and proceeded to call every possible other Zara branch around Manila to ask if they had the same pair in my size. No such luck. I composed myself and surrendered to the reality that I had simply missed my shot at purchasing what I then thought were the perfect pair of fall shoes. I told myself that it simply wasn't meant to be.
Two months later, I was in America, shopping for grad schools instead of clothes. On one of my free days, I decided to take a shopping trip to South Coast Plaza with a friend who lived in Orange County. The first thing she did was take me to the Zara store. She knew I was nervous about going back to school and this was her way of cheering me up. By this time, I was already unemployed and therefore lacking the funds to be as frivolous as I was just a few months before. I wandered aimlessly around the store, picking up dresses and shirts to look at and feigning interest for my friend's sake. When I arrived at the shoe racks--and I am not kidding--something magical happened.
There, on the bottom shelf, peeping out from under a heaping pile of black-fringed heels, were the exact same strappy suede Mary Janes I had lost to a fellow-shoe fetishist in Manila. I got on my knees right away and shoved the other shoes away. It was the exact same pair I had fallen in love with two months ago, the only pair in the store, in exactly my size too.
I didn't think twice to buy them this time around. Sure, I was unemployed and paying to travel around the U.S. so I could look at grad schools, and chose one that would take even more money out of my rapidly-dwindling bank account, but I didn't care. After all, who was I to fight fate?


 

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