Foot Fetish, Shmoot Shmetish

I was telling this story at work the other day and I realized that I have a lot of stories that my friends have either heard already, or were present for, so I don’t retell them.  There’s been a lot of turnover at work, so I have a new built in audience.  Then I remembered that I have a blog, which is an even bigger audience.

My group of friends started out as most a bunch of guys who met through engineering at school, and one or two girls thrown in for good measure.  Slowly, but surely, they started acquiring girlfriends and we (the girlfriends) started hanging out.  On one of these hangouts, we were at a bar called The Liquor Store.  It has a mechanical bull.  We didn’t exactly time it, but we’re pretty sure (I’m 100% sure) that I stayed on longer than anyone else (patting myself on the back…and wondering why I’m bragging about this).

One of my friends and I were sitting on a bench outside waiting for the others to get their coats from coat check or some shit (what a fucking scam is coat check?  just put fucking coat hooks around the bar), and she was wearing heels so her feet really hurt.  I offered to switch shoes with her, since boots hurt less than heels and my feet were fine thus far.

We were in a busy area of town and had five people so it was a bitch to find a cab.  One guy looked like he was gonna stop, changed his mind and drove away, and then came back around.  It was a black SUV with livery plates, so it was legit, just a little sketchier than your average taxi.

As we’re talking about penises or wedding dresses or whatever it is we talk about when we’re slurring our words, the driver asks if anybody wants a foot rub.  My friends are appalled; I’m intrigued.  Go on, good sir, offer me your wares.  He’s a cab driver and a masseuse.  That’s his calling, his passion.  At this point, I had been wearing my friend’s heels while we walked all over creation trying to hail a cab and my feet fucking hurt.  I’m also sitting in the middle of the back seat.  So, I slip of my shoes and put my feet up on the middle console in the front seat and Vincent Buttaro, Jr. (he gave me his card) proceeded to rub my feet the whole way home, giving me tips on rolling golf balls under them and whatnot.  It was glorious.  My feet never felt better.

I don’t see anything wrong with the way this went down, but when we were telling the story the next day EVERYONE is disgusted.  Wahhhh, he had a foot fetish!  Ewwww!  

And then there’s me, who’s like, “Who cares if he had a foot fetish?  I got a free foot rub!”