shoehorn with teeth

so i got kicked out of a job interview thisafternoon.

let me rephrase that. i wasn't kicked out of the interview. i was kicked out of the waiting area. by the receptionist. for wearing the wrong shoes.

first, the woman looked me up and down. she made as if to lead me back to the interview area, then paused. 'uh, did you bring another pair of shoes with you?'

why would i have done that?

'we need you to be dressed professionally. you need to be wearing professional shoes.'

my shoes aren't mid-height closed-toe taupe suede pumps, but they aren't exactly sneakers, either. they do happen to be red. they do have a small white stripe. they do, i will concede, bear a passing resemblance to bowling shoes. their effect on my typing speed, though, i fail to understand.

they told me i could come back on monday. wearing different shoes, of course. so i have until monday to figure out exactly what the hell 'professional shoes' are. i have scoured the internet for enlightenment. those who evidently are clever enough to know the specifics of Professional Business Attire are, to a man, sadly unable to master the concept of subject-verb agreement. these people mangle prose unacceptably. these people are only just able to express themselves coherently. these people work for Schools of Business, so i suppose i should have expected no better. they may not be able to write, but they do know how to dress. they claim that they know how to dress, at least. 'fit in, don't stand out!' they entreat me. they tell me i must wear a skirt, that it must be dark, that it must fall at a precise distance below my knee, that my hose (hose, who wears hose?) must match the skirt, the skirt must match the blouse, the blouse must match the jacket. there are complex formulas (really, not making this up) from which one may derive the number of 'accessories' to wear.

this is obscene.

i can accept the fact that i can't expect an interesting or well-paying job because i haven't a college degree. i've just about come around to conceding that point. i refuse to accept the idea that my hireability, my worth as an employee, my value as a human being is defined by the fucking shoes i choose to wear on a given afternoon, however. they are shoes. they go on your feet. they keep your feet warm. they keep broken glass out. that is what shoes do. that is all.