The Missing Shop
I had a strange experience yesterday. According to my podiatrist, my feet are like Ferraris. They are special, and need special care or they’ll break down. They look like any other feet, but she’s right. If I go around barefoot too long or don’t wear orthotics, after a while, I cripple myself. So… off to the specialist shoe shop, where I hoped I could buy nice shoes with removable footbeds so I can fit the orthotics in.
I had never been there before, but I recognised the address. I was confident I would find it since I’d grown up in the same suburb. When I parked my car under the gumtrees, the little shopping centre looked pretty much the same as it had when I was twelve, except there was a red and blue climbing frame in the middle, and it now seemed to specialise in shops relating to children – kid’s art, maternity wear, cafes for mums with prams. There was a lone greengrocer, and a cream brick supermarket that had not changed.
It took me less than two minutes to walk around the perimeter and not see the shop I was after anywhere, although I’d looked it up on the internet only an hour ago.
I walked around one more time, this time paying careful attention to all the signs on the awnings. I checked there were no shops around the back. Only a service road. I crossed back over the carpark and inspected the block of units on the far side, which did have a couple of shops under it that I’d never seen before. A dimly lit computer shop, and an accountant.
I dug in my handbag for my mobile phone, to check the location again. Typical me, I’d left it at home. I’d do one more lap. Then I’d ask in one of the cafes to find out where the shop had gone.
On the third circuit, again, nothing. I picked up a brochure from the art shop about kid’s parties, so it wouldn’t be a complete waste of time. No prices listed, probably too expensive. And then I saw it. Right where it had been the entire time. The widest building there – the old supermarket. Its windows were full of shoes. There was a blue and white sign at waist height that proclaimed, “The Shoe Shop”.
My mind had filled all the details in with what I ‘knew’ was there, rendering the actual shop invisible.
Just like when I write a story and know what is there, but forget to describe it to a reader.
Impressive, how our minds can fill in the blanks when we don’t even know it.
Have you ever had a similar experience?
