Ever since my arrival, I'd been told that my shoes were not conform to Venezuelan construction area code since they didn't have steel toes. I hadn't been informed of this requirement prior to my arrival or I would have taken steps to rectify the problem beforehand. "If the safety guys see you, you'll be sorry!" I was told by both native and foreign personnel. Unfortunately, the long hours with little time off didn't accommodate my search for a solution.
Not only was I out of compliance with the boot gods, the one pair of shoes I did have were cheap and meant for city use exclusively. Working in the dirt and gravel under a tropical sun was quickly making mincemeat of them.
After a few weeks, one of the workers told me he would sell the leather boots that he was given by Chavez's government. "They're an extra pair," I was told. We compared sizes and he seemed to be the same, but he backed out at the last minute claiming to actually be smaller than me. "You need a bigger size," he confessed. My search continued.
Enter our driver, Pancho. He confirmed my size and availability, and a few days later, I was the proud owner of a pair of steel-toed, leather boots. They were the lace up kind, a bit hard to put on and take off, but definitely worth the price, 200 Bolivars, or roughly $30 at the black market exchange rate.
The following day, I proudly strutted my new addition and proclaimed that I was now in conformance with all construction codes. I made it a point to ensure that all the safety personnel were well aware of my compliance with the corresponding codes. I was almost walking on air.
And then noon came around and I felt a slight pain in the back part of my foot. But that was barely noticeable and I had no worries as I finished out the day and went back to Hotel Gringo with my pretty, barely used, comfortable leather boots. After work, I went out to Grandma's Boso restaurant to celebrate my good fortune.
The next day was a different matter altogether, however. As I was lacing up my shoes I noticed that the pain in the heel of my foot not only didn't go away, but actually increased in intensity. I suddenly found myself walking gingerly past the receptionist and to the elevator to go have breakfast. Each step seemed to be more agonizing than the last.
"Hurry up, John," screamed the others as I slowly plodded my way to the bus. "What's wrong? Got new shoes?"
"Yeah, but I forgot to order the new feet that go with them."
Just sitting on the bus was painful. When I finally arrived at the laydown yard, I was in a world of hurt. Each step felt like a thousand knives digging into my heels. I found myself walking like Asians, taking short steps and shuffling feet. It felt like my blisters had blisters of their own.
The five-man crew working with me was very sympathetic and did their best to keep me stationary while they went about finding and organizing the parts inside the yard. I would find a shady spot in the center of our area of work and as they called out the number of the part, I would write it down on my check off sheet. That was painful enough, but what was about to happen compounded the suffering a million times over.
Squirrel decided that it was time to give me a tour of the huge construction site. "Let me show you how all this is going to be laid out," he grinned.
"I really don't think I need to do that just now," I protested.
"Nonsense, you need to know where the material is going to be used and the sooner the better for all of us." With that he plodded off towards the farthest duct bank with me hobbling behind him. By now, the pain was way past unbearable. My wince had become a permanent fixture on my face. As I performed my best Igor impression, Squirrel gleefully trotted along from duct bank to duct bank explaining in minutiae what each one was for.
All the other workers thought my suffering was hilarious. Soon, almost a quarter of the workers were hobbling around, grabbing their ankles and pretending to be in great pain. The other three quarters were rolling over in laughter.
That night, one of the expats at Hotel Gringo saw my condition and told me he had the solution for me. He has worked on a ranch for the past few years and he had some soothing ointment that is perfect for blisters. He rushed to his room and before I could take off my boots, ran breathlessly into my own with his patented solution, a tube of soothing gel for cattle hooves. "If this can take care of animal feet, it's gotta do wonders for human feet."
He rushed to his room and returned moments later with a well used yellow ointment tube in his hand. "Lanolin-rich, antiseptic, ointment --"""". For horses, cattle, small animals pets," claimed the front side of the tube. On the back side, the product stated, "Used since 1906 for: cuts, saddle sores, chapping, scrapes, hoofs, dry skin." Of course the directions are different depending on the area involved; body and legs, head and face, udder and teats, hoofs and pets. He told me that I'd see a wondrous improvement almost overnight just by following what's written.
I guess I'll never find out.
The next day was worse. I had spent all night draining my blisters and keeping my feet suspended in air. When it came time to put my boots on, the pain was almost unimaginable. I moved the absolute bare minimum and kept as far away from the "helpful" gringos as possible. It was bad enough working under the unrelenting tropical sun, but to have blisters over 90% of one's feet at the same time made it seem that Hell was just around the corner.
On the third day, the company doctor, Medic, saw me and just shook his head. "You know," he told me, "You appear to be in great pain. My prescription is for you to return to your regular shoes until these boots, or your feet, are properly broken in." These were the words I was waiting for. I can now use my other shoes, as bad as they were, until I got used to the boots. It still took several days for my feet to return to normal, but I no longer looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame or Igor from Frankenstein. It still took over a month to finally be able to wear the boots without cringing, but at least I didn't have to crawl during that time.
