Chancletas de Jesus

The following story is true.
Names have been changed to protect the (allegedly) innocent.

Everybody has their own personal pet peeves - those often commonplace things, events, or situations that for some reason grate on a person's nerves like a microplane separating the zest off a lemon.

(Wow ... I've got to stop letting Ms N use the remote. Way too much Food Network!)

I was reminded recently of an old high school buddy of mine - let's just call him "Jim" - who had two of the peeviest pet peeves I have ever seen.

Even though Jim was a male teenager in high school, he was actually a reasonably smart guy. "Raul," he'd tell me, "it really does no good to change your own name in this story. I mean, my identity will be safe with the name change, but people already know who you are!"

Jim could be smart that way.

But those peeves ...

For normal people, pet peeves cause unreasonable and irrational reactions. For Jim it was far more. They weren't just the fingernails on his chalkboard, they were his Kryptonite.

They weren't Jim's pet peeves, he was the peeves' pet Jim.

(Special thanks to the late Johnny Cochran for inspiring that one!)

In retrospect, Jim's one unreasonable, irrational peeve was at least reasonable and rational at its source. When Jim was a kid he was riding the bus to school. A tractor-trailer driving next to the bus ran over something sharp, puncturing the tire and causing it (the tire) to explode. It was right next to the young Mr. Jim, and it scar(r)ed him for life.

Ever since then, he has had a "thing" about big-tired vehicles. The kind of thing that would cause him to change lanes, accelerate, decelerate, or even change roads rather than drive next to a semi.

Jim's other unreasonable, irrational peeve had nary a reasonable nor rational explanation.

Jim hated Jesus sandals.

Anytime Jim saw anybody who wasn't Jesus (or at least an apostle) wearing sandals, he got irked.

It wasn't that Jim thought that sandals were so special that only a messiah was worthy to wear them; that a mere mortal having the audacity to don a pair holy flip-flops constituted blasphemy of the highest order. It was more that he couldn't stand seeing anyone wearing sandals, but Jesus - with the whole "son of God" and "dying on the cross and then overcoming death just for us" thing - gets a pass.

Jim, being an Army brat, lived wherever his dad was stationed. As a result, he spent some of his younger years in the Middle East. Jesus sandals were everywhere there, and most of the people wearing them were by no means Jesuses.

Moving to Alaska, a place where you would more expect to find Jesus snowshoes, Jim was still unable to escape the dreaded footwear. This was the early ninties. Once clear of the snowy and slushy months, people would put on their Berkenstocks (and white socks!).

And Jim would stew.

Boy would he stew. Were a family to walk by with Mom, Dad, and the kids all wearing Jesus sandals, Jim would pop out a dumpling.

"One of these years," Jim would, ahem, allegedly tell us, "you're going to turn on the news and see that a Jesus sandal factory has been blown up, and you'll know it was me!"

I have no idea where Jim is now. It has been many years since last we spoke. I still have yet to see "Explosion Destroys Jesus Sandal Factory" scrolling across CNN, which I take to be a sign that he has found something better to do, like date.

I am curious to see what's become of him.

Then again, this past weekend I bought myself (by which I mean "Ms N bought me") my first ever pair of Jesus sandals (or as I've been calling them, chancletas de Jesus).

After wearing them around a bit, I think I am hooked. To be honest, I really wish I had gotten these things a long time ago. Of course, having just come to this revalation, this might not be the best time to suddenly run into Jim.

If you see him, tell him Raul moved away ...