By Daniel Krieger

I was broke and desperate when I came across an ad on Craigslist seeking a size eleven to break in a new pair of Dr. Martens. Most ads were scams targeting unskilled college-educated bottom feeders like me. But that one struck me as authentic, and I was qualified.

I sent over my resume and got the job. I took long walks in the shoes, got a few blisters and earned one hundred bucks. I’d found my calling. And if I charged double and advertised a “proprietary break-in methodology,” I thought I might make some real coin. 

I debuted my shoe break-in service, Blister Buster, on Craigslist. Within an hour, I got my first query and they kept coming. Like any savvy entrepreneur, I’d tapped into an unmet need: lots of people love getting new shoes but hate the pain and discomfort of breaking them in.

My method had three components that accelerated the process, first: wrap the shoes in towels and stomp on them to soften them up; second: blow dry them for further softening; and third: clock in at least twenty miles walking or running—all depending on the needs of the particular shoe. With so many orders, I hired contractors who covered a full spectrum of sizes and employed my method.

But some clients got the perverse idea to also ask me to perform other unpleasant tasks. One guy wanted me to break up with his girlfriend. Another wanted me to unleash a bunch of rats in a rival’s restaurant. A woman asked me to “accidentally” spill a jumbo cup of Coca-Cola on her ex-boyfriend. The high demand for harassment and sabotage was enough to make you lose faith in people. Here I was making an honest living, but they wanted to use me for their dirty work. Being an honorable businessman, I refused to indulge this underbelly of humanity despite the promise of cash I would have salivated over in my bottom feeding days. And then came the mother of all vile requests.

I was sitting on a Chesterfield sofa at a swanky Park Avenue apartment, sipping a gin and tonic with a repeat client after delivering his broken-in Ferragamos. 

“You’ve been doing such a good job,” he said. “I was wondering if I might hire you for something that might be a bit more, shall we say, skill-oriented.”

“What do you have in mind?” I asked, imagining he wanted me to be his naked houseboy or some such indignity.

“Do you have any experience with elimination?”

“Elimination? Like, of what?”

“Of an enemy, naturally,” he said, smiling. “If you think about it, is that really so different from what you’ve been doing for me?”

I stared at him in disbelief, unable to fully process what he was telling me. “You mean breaking in your shoes?”

“Yeah, it’s just good ol’ American capitalism. You’re performing a valuable service for me, and I’m compensating you. You already walked dozens of miles for me. It’s practically the same thing but with a much bigger payout.”

“Unless you want me to kill your enemy by walking him to death, I don’t really see the similarity,” I said.

He told me it’s just a matter of “perspective,” making that innocent word sound sinister. I called him the next day and told him I had to turn down his generous offer and hoped there were no hard feelings. 

“You’ll regret this,” he said and hung up. 

I didn’t think I would. Business was booming.

~

A week later, I got a summons from a fancy lawyer claiming to represent a snazzy pair of Ferragamos. This was no coincidence. It was obvious that my disgruntled Park Avenue client had put his Tramezza plain toe Oxfords up to it. The complaint alleged negligence, improper breaking-in, and aggravated stomping. 

Soon after, more notices rolled in from many of the shoes Blister Buster had broken in: Manolo Blahniks, Jimmy Choos, Louboutins, Timberlands, Air Jordans, and Birkenstocks. All claimed the same offenses as the Ferragamos, plus incitement of violence and violations of their dignity. One was even trying to hold me criminally liable for “depraved indifference” that entailed “a deliberate and conscious disregard for their well-being.” 

I took pride in providing this service and fancied myself a top-notch professional. But with the glut of orders, I guess I did cut a few corners, and maybe I was a bit too rough on the shoes in the interest of turning orders around quickly. But my actions were never criminal or improper. The case they were making was wildly unfair and frivolous.

The $500-an-hour lawyer I hired, however, told me the shoes had a strong case and recommended settling. But the grievance-fueled shoes insisted on having their day in court. Thanks to the negative press, my business went kaput and most of the money I’d saved went to my lawyer.

With all that footwear conspiring against me, word spread, and even my own well-worn shoes abandoned me. Ultimately, the criminal charges were dropped, but I lost everything in civil court. 

At the final hearing, the judge berated me for all the suffering I’d inflicted. Barely able to contain his contempt, he concluded by asking me: “How does it feel now that the shoe is on the other foot?”

I have to say, it felt terrible. I was penniless and condemned to wander barefoot for the rest of my days.