strip naked we're fitting you for insoles

only in switzerland could they find a way to make something so geriatric, somehow sexy. it was surreal. my vision was slowly starting to come back as we headed on a train bound for a charming swiss town called Appenzell. my mum was my escort, seeing eye person. my dr recommended the orthopedic fitting from a small sports shop run by a former olympic skier. it's a long boring story unrelated to my eyes on why the custom insoles were needed. it's a bit like bringing the car into the shop for an oil change and fixing the squeaky brakes while you're at it.

anyhow, we find our way upstairs to the fitting area and there is a distracted fellow behind the desk who looks like the swiss version of robert redford though slightly more athletic. his female assistant is a 20 something bookish type who speaks more english than he does but that's not saying much. there is a large swiss woman in her 60s ahead of us, she sits beside the desk and flips thru a magazine in stocking feet as she waits for her insoles. seems mundane enough. i really wasn't expecting what happened next.

off to the side, there is a platform with stairs and a tv screen built into the top step that you have to walk up and step on before you begin, they take a few impressions, snapshots, whatever and then you go into a room around the corner. there's a curtain on the door, a few sleek modern chairs against the wall for waiting and then a computer and video camera on the other side of the room directly across from a black curtain and another tv screen that you step on. the assistant mimes to me to remove my clothes except the "pantalones and bikini." hmm...

in the muddle of half swiss german and half english i realize that i am supposed to face the black curtain (away from the room), there is a huge spotlight on me. I can see in my shadow that my shoulders are up around my ears so i take a deep breath, relax and conjure Karen Cain hoping my posture improves. next the bookish assistant tells me to remove the bikini and put on a headband (i am an aerobic queen from the 80s)...then please pull down the "pantalones" just enough so they can see the bottom of the spine. capture it on video. then this fan comes on from below, blowing luke warm air up at me. i am tricked into being the star of an orthopedic porn flick obviously.

i smirk to myself and say "Ah, black toe." Of course, my mother doesn't get the Lost in Translation reference and says, "Black door?"

across the room the assistant and robert are fussing at the computer, ignoring us in the quest for perfect insoles. what feels like 20 minutes pass. still facing the black curtain, I say "Can I get dressed now?" everyone else seems to have forgotten that i am nearly naked and still facing the black curtain. they wave me along, like "Sure, sure whatever." then two minutes later we are the ones casually flipping thru a magazine by the desk outside while new unsuspecting insole seekers arrive.

of course the insoles fit like a dream.