Six Twenty Seven. That is the time I walk through the spinning gate everyday, ready for work. It's really busy at that time of day. Today is no exception. I say a quick prayer that my card will scan and that I will not be the one to hold up the line and stop the flow. I get through with ease and smooth flow. One by one, my work colleagues and I form a single line and cross the road, ready to start our day at work.
Walking in the opposite direction to us are the (mainly) men coming off night shift. Some are talking and laughing, others looking zombie-like, with a blank stare, waiting to get to sleep. Others, oblivious to their surrounds, appear to be listening to music. Each of them is rugged up: A night out on the pit in this weather is enough to call for beanies and thermals!
There are (unwritten) rules that everyone follows. Walk to the left, in single file. If you happen to be stuck behind a person whose stride is shorter, or somehow different to your own, it can cause some trouble. One step out of line and the entire bee-line of people will stop and crash. What's more, there are not only us who are coming to day shift, it will ruin the flow of those coming from night shift too.
I find the rhythm and get into the flow of the line. I am in my groove and the unthinkable happens. My shoelace comes undone. I will be okay. I keep on walking, but it gets worse. I have no space to stop - I simply must keep on going. I estimate I have 30 steps until I can turn off, find a place to stop and fix my shoe issue.
I missed out on the whole shoe lace tying lesson. I don't have a date. But I would say it was winter. I know this because I was wearing my bright red dressing gown (with space rockets on it) and my sister Ella was in her pink dressing gown with a single snowman. Based on the house we lived, I must have been about four or five. Anyway, I was in teh lounge room, walking around, determined to get this bow thing in order. I practiced with the bright blue piece of terry-toweling that acted as the belt for my dressing gown. I recall that I screamed out to my parents that I could tie a bow. I was so proud - I had done it all on my own. I was adamant, from that day forward, that I had mastered the art of lace tying. Nothing more was ever said.
Today it would have come in handy if I had had that lesson. My right shoe has loosened to a point where it is flipping, rubbing against my heel and ankle, causing discomfort and pain. I do a quick estimate - around twenty more steps until I am free. I start ding some sort of stupid limp in a vain effort to keep the shoe from flying off, or worse, me falling flat on my face.
I make it to safety. I take a seat, look down at my shoe. I decide to start from the beginning, where I should have started twenty five years ago - not three weeks shy of my 30th birthday.
One by one, I put the laces through the eyelets, tightening as I go. (So this is what it feels like). I recall my days of working at a shoe whop and how I always instructed children to tie their laces. I the shoelaces in the shoe. Time to tie them. I think about the rhyme "One bunny, two bunny, round the tree... Through the loop and now you see!" I have done it. I feel proud. At twenty nine years of age, for the first time in my life, I realise that I now have mastered the art of tying my steel cap boots.
I get up and march proudly into work, with my head held high.. just like the day i first learnt to tie a bow.
(Diclaimer: this has been the first time in my life I have worn Steel cap boots. I traded Pantyhose, knee length skirts and court shoes for High-Vis Shirts, steel cap boots and hard hats).
