<ODD>
Since when are Docs no longer made in England?
An innocent drive to my local shoe store. I've beaten the hell out of my old docs after only two years of wear. (Oh, the life of the car-less student.) They are well beyond any possibly of repair.
A simple purchase. No dallying around, just a straight up replacement. Size 11, black, 8 hole Doc Marten Boots. Seems easy enough.
Home again, I lace them up, strapping them onto my feet. The leather feels a little different. Imperceptibly, softer. I remember new Doc leather being able to stop small caliber bullets. This seems somehow more restrained, gentler. Odd.
Now, the ominous part. I cross my legs; nonchalant, reading a journal article. In a pause between paragraphs, I happen to glance down at my new, clean, bouncing soles.
The Doc cross is there. The listing of hazardous materials I can walk though is there. Clean, new, biting tread is there. Yet, something is missing. A sinking feeling dawns on me. There is no blunt little statement below the Doc label. I find my old boots sitting by my door, like lost little puppies. On their bottoms, the proudly declare "MADE IN ENGLAND."
This is missing on the new set. When walking in fresh snow, I won't leave happy little DNALGNE NI EDAM imprints. Now they have a meek, almost embarrassed "Made in China," on a small tag, on the box.
It is the end of civilization.
</ODD>
Since when are Docs no longer made in England?
An innocent drive to my local shoe store. I've beaten the hell out of my old docs after only two years of wear. (Oh, the life of the car-less student.) They are well beyond any possibly of repair.
A simple purchase. No dallying around, just a straight up replacement. Size 11, black, 8 hole Doc Marten Boots. Seems easy enough.
Home again, I lace them up, strapping them onto my feet. The leather feels a little different. Imperceptibly, softer. I remember new Doc leather being able to stop small caliber bullets. This seems somehow more restrained, gentler. Odd.
Now, the ominous part. I cross my legs; nonchalant, reading a journal article. In a pause between paragraphs, I happen to glance down at my new, clean, bouncing soles.
The Doc cross is there. The listing of hazardous materials I can walk though is there. Clean, new, biting tread is there. Yet, something is missing. A sinking feeling dawns on me. There is no blunt little statement below the Doc label. I find my old boots sitting by my door, like lost little puppies. On their bottoms, the proudly declare "MADE IN ENGLAND."
This is missing on the new set. When walking in fresh snow, I won't leave happy little DNALGNE NI EDAM imprints. Now they have a meek, almost embarrassed "Made in China," on a small tag, on the box.
It is the end of civilization.
</ODD>
michelle:
I'm fighting the urge to go to my office right now. Just one little letter of intent... and one little phone call... and I think I'm gonna cave in 