I get to the shoe-repair shop at 11:50, worried that he might have closed ten minutes early because who wants to repair shoes in a dusty little shop on a beautiful Saturday the likes of which we haven’t seen in months? Without those steel-toed boots, Captain OCD couldn’t work on Monday morning.
“Hmmm. Today? Well, hmmm. I think— I wonder— maybe— hmm. Yes, that does say, that does say, hmm, Saturday. Maybe I—. Well, they should be in my— But they’re not in my Saturday box. Maybe they’re over—. No, no, they’re not— Ah! Okay, here they are!
“Uh oh, hmm, did I get these done? It looks like I did, didn’t— So, yes, I— But I didn’t— And I still have to—
“Do you have someplace to go? For an hour or two? Could you come back?”
I came back, happily.