The Cobbler

Nowadays the word "cobbler" usually refers to a fruity dessert, not a shoe repairer. But cobblers do still exist, and I had an interesting experience when I went in to get my boots fixed.

The first day I walked in the shop, the first thing I noticed were the pictures on the wall. There's the female cobbler in a large framed photo, wearing a puffy, almost victorian-looking white shirt, with a large cross hanging on a chain around her neck. She is sitting next to Hilary Clinton, at what appears to be a fundraiser dinner. Beside this photo is an equally-large picture of Jim Morrison, with a tie-dye background. This is a dorm room style, album art piece, and one of the strangest combinations in wall decor I've ever seen. There are shoes and cloth thrown about everywhere in this room. It smells great, like a new pair of shoes. Apparently that's the scent of fresh glue.

The woman gets up from her sewing machine in the back room and greets me with a smile. I show her my Red Wings and tell her they've never been cobbled before, nor have I ever visited a cobbler. She shows me a variety of new soles to choose from, and says what each are designed for. There's the flat tread for climbing ladders, a chunky tread for hiking, and so on. I pick the deepest tread available so I don't slip on the ice this winter. Great. Transaction done. She gives me a numbered ticket, with my total, $65, due upon completion. She says the boots will be ready in one week, but to call first in case she's running behind. I leave the store thinking she may be a bit off mentally, but the glue smell is pretty strong.

I give her a call a week later, on Friday. She says my boots are almost done. She has that familiar intoxicated/mental tone in her voice. She tells me to pick them up Wednesday.

I show up Wednesday, late afternoon.

"I've told you lies. So many lies," she says.

She's shaking her head like she's about to hit herself. She finds my boots and they're totally destroyed. There is no sole, it's just a pile of mangled leather.

"They're nowhere near done," she says on the verge of tears, "And they've never been repaired before!!" she seethes, "I need to re-cork them, and fix this stitching! This is going to take another week."

"Okay," I say, "No problem. Have a good day."

"Well you made it that way!" she smiles.

What? I leave the shop with a weird feeling. I go home and google this place. The Yelp reviews are the worst I've ever seen. There are 50 comments, with a one-star average, and most say, "If I could have given a zero, I would." One reviewer even calls the cobbler a thief, multiple times, and says the woman took a Coach purse in for repair and never gave it back. Some reviews claim that the woman snapped, and berated them for being too demanding.

Now I'm a little nervous, but I know what to do: be super nice.

The cobbler calls me every other Saturday to check in. She says the boots aren't quite done, close, but she's still working. "No problem!" I say, "Take your time! Have a wonderful day!"

Six weeks later, I get a call. The boots might be done.

I hit the ATM. I'm not giving this lady my credit card or a check. I enter the shop and the glue smell hits me. There she is working in back and wearing a surgeon mask, which does not filter noxious fumes. She gets up from her desk and greets me at the front counter.

"Here to pick up an order," I smile, and hand her my ticket.

"Oh," she grins, "Are you Patient Ryan?"

"Yes, that's me." This lady is nuts.

"Thanks so much for not giving up on me."

She hands me my boots, from a plastic grocery bag hanging on a nail on the wall. To my surprise, the boots look great. Unbelievable! They're shiny and clean, and look brand new. I'm ecstatic. I compliment her work, thank her, and hand her the cash. She throws my money in a junk drawer like an old pencil. She smiles, says her work is guaranteed, and invites me to come back soon.

The work is solid! I am so impressed. The Main Street Cobbler redeemed herself and her reputation. That being said, I don't think I'll be back. There is another cobbler in town, who must be a little more reliable, right?