As the Polygon Turns: Dr. Shoess (Episode 18)

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I should tell you that the only other Navy people who work in my office with me are pilots. They all go by nicknames – oh, I am sorry, “callsigns” – like Face, Bingo, Delta, Lou Brock, and Mojo. What I have noticed over my years of observing pilots, is that it seems that they are incapable of socially interacting with (or at least accepting) someone unless they give that person a callsign too. The freakishly large SEAL in the office is now named “Beef,” the Army Major who has a French sounding first name is “Frenchie,” and me, I have been dubbed “Shoe” – short for black shoe. Naval Aviators wear brown shoes, and the rest of us wear black shoes. Per regulation, we all could wear either color, but in the Navy, blood is thicker than leather, so with a couple of exceptions, all of us simply stick to tradition.

The other guys whom I work with inhabit cubicles not directly connected with mine, but close enough so when anyone of us speaks much above a whisper, we can all hear what each other is saying. Like typical pilots, they spend a lot of time sitting around joking while I, the Shoe, am working. When they want to include me, or to heckle me, they speak to me in short disconnected sentences, like in a Dr. Seuss book:

“Shoe!”
“Yes.”
“Shoe, what you up to?”
“Working on a prep book.”
“See Shoe work!”
“Someone has to.”
“Shut up Shoe!”
“Why, think of what we have to get done!”
But I didn’t really want to ruin their fun.
“Shoe, why you so rigid? Quit reminding us about work!” they add with a jerk.
But I just ignore them and smirk.


When leaving the office for the day, they ask me:
“Are you really working on something or are you just being a Shoe?”
“No, I have to get this finished…”
“See Shoe work!”
“That’s right.”
"Work Shoe Work."

One day I got in late and I started complaining about the foul weather and the tardy bus before I reminded myself that at least I wasn’t standing a four hour deck watch in this weather. Giving no breaks, though, a pilot caught me bitching and said:
“I don't know which is worse: hearing Shoe complain about standing in the rain or listening to the fact that she just added 10 and 15 to get 20.”
And I thought, “Here we go again: hear shoe whine, four and five is nine. Watch shoe add, rainy weather doesn’t make her glad.”

Sometimes they don’t want my unsolicited opinion and they tell me: “Shoe, who gave you permission to speak?” This makes me feel like a freak, but I never become bleak because I know there will always be next week.

The other day I realized that I may have been short a uniform item for a function that night and I mentioned this to my buddies.
“You’d better get going, Shoe!”
“I have until 4…”
Then I looked at my wrist,
and pounded my fist,
thinking I had better head for the door!
“Run Shoe Run!” I heard the boys cheer,
as I put it in gear.
I changed really fast,
and was off with a blast.
“Watch Shoe go!” they cried,
and out of the door I flied!
I ran through the rain,
bypassing bus and train.
In no time at all,
I was at the uniform mall.
The pin of a Shoe’s heritage I bought,
and as I left the store I thought,
“Now my wardrobe is complete, thanks to this Shoe’s fleet feet!”