Strippers at the Shoe Repair? It All Makes So Much Sense.

My neighborhood has a gem of a shoe repair shop. It is run by a gregarious Armenian named Harry. Every time I go to Harry's to get shoes repaired or shined, one or more attractive young women are inside. This happened again yesterday. A cute, petite blonde woman was negotiating with Harry over repairing her long black leather boots. Harry wanted to be paid upfront, in cash. The woman said she could not pay him until Friday. Finally, Harry said, "Okay, I trust" in his thick accent, and took the boots.

When the woman left, I remarked to Harry about his attractive clientele. He pointed to a wall full of head shot photographs, almost all of them women. "Dees are my clients," he said, his brown eyes burning brightly. "Day are so byooteefool!" I looked at the photos, but did not recognize the names or the faces. Some of the women had big blonde "bedroom hair" and blatant "come hither" looks.

"Are they all actresses?" I asked?

"Streepers. Most of dem are streepers."

"Strippers? Why do you have so many clients who are strippers?"

Then it dawned on me. Of course. Strippers wear those giant platform shoes, that are often transparent, sometimes with little fish swimming inside them. The strippers' shoes have huge stilletto heels. Strippers spend their time dancing in those stripper shoes on stage, swinging from their stripper poles, then walking among the tables to chat with clients, sell them more booze, arrange private lapdances, and other types of upselling. Or so I hear. Strippers must break their damn shoes all the time.

So it makes perfect sense to me that strippers are often in need of a good shoe repair shop. What a brilliant niche for Harry to carve.

I wonder what he does with the fish.