The Wandering Cobbler

Dirty old pair of Vanns canvas shoes
Photo by Dickens Sikazwe on Unsplash

Sometimes the overly-paranoid-whilst-travelling Bratt gene leads you to make stupid self-sabotaging decisions. Here’s an example: at Delhi train station I discover that the sole of my shitty converse shoe is hanging off. A wandering cobbler (he looks nomadic and he’s touting shoe fixing services, he’s a wandering cobbler) notices too and tells me he’ll ‘give me very good price’ to fix it. I’m like, mate using phrases like that is NOT gonna get you my business. I proudly refuse. He points to my shoe and I woefully notice that, yeah, it is really f***ed… But I can’t go back on my word now, or I’ll look a twat in front of all these people who are watching to see what I do (they’re probably not). He eventually walks off and I smugly think to myself how well I played that. You’re not gonna get me with your shoe scam! However shortly afterwards my shoes become basically unwearable and, unbelievably, I’ve not brought any other shoes to India with me (I KNOW) and it’s late… and I’m up early on a tour tomorrow. Shit. Still, at least I wasn’t scammed….. (not here anyway, in Agra instead).

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