shoe sheriff

We played ‘mafia’ at youth group Saturday. I don’t think I’ve ever been the sheriff.

Speaking of sheriffs, Di and I drove past ‘The Shoe Sheriff‘ in Newmarket, Auckland, today.  It’s a long-standing shoe repair place.  I used to work ((and drink copious amounts of coffee)) in the Newmarket area, and I still remember when the big, bad, black hole of a shopping company, two-double-seven was expanding across Broadway street, buying-up-and-tearing-down the old less-than-cared-for buildings that were there, and replacing them with flash, glistening new buildings ((which will, of course, in a matter of time, be old and less-than-cared-for themselves – and such are the days of our lives)).

But ‘The Shoe Sheriff’ would not be bought.

When it was happening, I went in and gave the owner a hearty kiwi “good on ya, mate”, and we talked about the stark contrast between the rapid installation of shoe stores ((hint: not used shoes)), and the repairing of good-enough shoes that the Sheriff does.

A stark interruption in a line of expansionist architecture, this small, tin-roofed, neon-signed, shoe repair shop is a veritable icon of all that is restorative, salvific, restorative, just, holy, pure, right, wholesome, fair trade, organic, green, seventy-ish, eco-friendly and cool about the world.

No doubt, the board/owners of two-double-seven probably feel it’s just a matter of time before they can fill in this small bastion of light with another shiny conglomeration of glass and concrete.  I say, “Long live the Shoe Sheriff!”

If you live in Auckland, and ever head past Newmarket, and have shoes that are ‘good enough’ to be repaired, do call in to the Sheriff, won’t ya?