Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a shoemaker in Rivesaltes is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
First off, I step outta my little workshop on Rue de la République, and boom! I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me. I’m like, “Great start, buddy!” But whatever, I brush it off. I head to the market, you know, the one by Place de la République. It’s buzzing! Fresh fruits, veggies, and the smell of pastries wafting through the air. I’m drooling, but I gotta focus. I’m here for leather, not croissants.
So, I’m haggling with this vendor, right? He’s got this amazing leather, but he’s trying to charge me an arm and a leg. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a shoemaker, not a millionaire!” We go back and forth, and I finally get a decent price. Score! But then, as I’m walking away, I see this kid kick a soccer ball right into a stall. SPLAT! Tomatoes everywhere! I’m laughing, but the vendor? Not so much. Poor guy.
After that, I head back to my shop, and I’m pumped to start on some custom kicks. I’m working on these bad boys for a local artist. She’s got this wild style, and I’m all about it. But then, my buddy Jean pops in. He’s always got some crazy story. Today, he’s ranting about the new café on Rue des Écoles. Apparently, they’re serving coffee that tastes like burnt rubber. I’m like, “Dude, how do you even know what that tastes like?”
Anyway, I’m trying to focus on my work, but Jean’s just too loud. I finally tell him, “Bro, I love ya, but I gotta finish these shoes!” He laughs and leaves, but not before knocking over my coffee. Ugh! I’m like, “Really, man?!”
So, I’m back to the shoes, and I’m in the zone. I’m cutting, stitching, and feeling like a rockstar. Then, outta nowhere, the door swings open. It’s Madame Dupont, the neighborhood’s biggest gossip. She’s all, “Did you hear about the festival on Rue de la Liberté?” I’m like, “What festival?” Turns out, they’re having this huge celebration with music, food, and dancing. I’m stoked!
But then, she drops the bomb. “Oh, and they’re having a shoe contest.” My heart sinks. I’m like, “Great, just what I need. More pressure.” But then I think, “Hey, I’m a shoemaker! I can totally win this!”
So, I finish the kicks, and they look amazing. I’m feeling good, but then I realize I forgot to eat all day. My stomach’s growling like a bear. I dash to the bakery on Rue de la Liberté, grab a baguette, and stuff my face. I’m literally inhaling it.
After that, I rush back to my shop, and it’s almost time for the festival. I’m nervous, but excited. I set up my booth, and people start coming by. They’re checking out my shoes, and I’m chatting them up. I even throw in some jokes. “These shoes will make you run faster than a cat on a hot tin roof!”
Then, the contest starts. My heart’s racing. I’m up against some serious competition. But when they call my name, I strut up there like I’m on a runway. I show off my kicks, and the crowd goes wild! I’m feeling like a superstar.
But then, just as I’m about to win, I trip on my own shoelace. Classic! I fall flat on my face. The crowd gasps, and I’m mortified. But then, I start laughing. I get up, dust myself off, and say, “Well, at least my shoes are still intact!” The crowd erupts in laughter, and I’m back in the game.
In the end, I don’t win, but who cares? I had a blast! I made new friends, shared some laughs, and even sold a few pairs. As the sun sets over Rivesaltes, I’m walking home, tired but happy. I think to myself, “Man, this city is wild, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
And that’s a day in the life of a shoemaker in Rivesaltes. Crazy, right?