The Case of the Missing Thongs
26 November 2010
Nine days we spent in Siem Reap. The Admiral room in the Aroma Daily guesthouse was beginning to feel like home. Especially, as the the establishment was a shoes off affair. Arriving back after sightseeing, dining, or cycling Jean and I would kick off our shoes at the entrance and leave them among the jumble of footwear on the front steps and then pad around the guesthouse barefoot.
During our stay I noticed that my flip flops would periodically not be where I'd left them. I owed this to the hotel clerks' heroic effort to maintain order on the front steps. However, sometimes after peeping around the flower pots and intently studying each item of footwear on the porch I would not find my flip flops among the assemblage.
I wasn't too bothered by this. They were nothing glamorous. A black, wedge-shaped $2 pair I had picked up in Sri Lanka to garden in. At first I had loathed them but after some breaking in they had grown on me. If I found them missing I would take my sandals out. Usually the flip flops would reappear the next day.
Yesterday evening, they were gone again. I carefully scanned the row after row of shoes. One of the young men lounging at the picnic table in the courtyard noticed my distress. At the Aroma Daily there were always at least a couple of itinerant guys hanging around the courtyard or lobby. Some were tuk-tuk drivers and guides. Others I guessed were friends or family of the guesthouse staff. They seemed quite comfortable often dispensing with shirts and taking advantage of any available elevated horizontal surface.
I didn't recognize the guy on the picnic bench but he seemed to know me. He asked what was the matter and I explained that I couldn't find my flip flops.
“I know them! I know your shoes!” He appeared very exuberant as he jumped up from the picnic bench and began aiding us in the search. “Are these them?” he asked several time pointing to various pairs.
The young man identified some leather sandals and asked me again. I shook my head and suddenly noticed his black flip flops looked awfully familiar. I hesitated before saying, “Actually, they look like the ones you have there.”
“Oh...” he said freezing in mid-search. He looked down at his feet. “Sorry.” He took off the flip flops and gave them to me. They were definitely my missing ones. The brand was one I'd only seen in Sri Lanka. The young man, now barefoot, was looking very sheepish. Even though they were mine I felt bad for taking them.
I apologized and thanked him. “Where are your flip flops?” I asked. “I'll help you find them.”
He shrugged his shoulders and looked absently at the rows of footwear. “I don't know.”
Jean and I went out to dinner and upon returning to the Aroma Daily, considering the matter settled, didn't think anything about leaving our foot gear on the front steps. Venturing out early this morning to catch our bus to our next destination I found that someone had neatly arranged the shoes again. Unfortunately, upon careful study I didn't find my flip flops among those assembled. Alas.
Nine days we spent in Siem Reap. The Admiral room in the Aroma Daily guesthouse was beginning to feel like home. Especially, as the the establishment was a shoes off affair. Arriving back after sightseeing, dining, or cycling Jean and I would kick off our shoes at the entrance and leave them among the jumble of footwear on the front steps and then pad around the guesthouse barefoot.
During our stay I noticed that my flip flops would periodically not be where I'd left them. I owed this to the hotel clerks' heroic effort to maintain order on the front steps. However, sometimes after peeping around the flower pots and intently studying each item of footwear on the porch I would not find my flip flops among the assemblage.
I wasn't too bothered by this. They were nothing glamorous. A black, wedge-shaped $2 pair I had picked up in Sri Lanka to garden in. At first I had loathed them but after some breaking in they had grown on me. If I found them missing I would take my sandals out. Usually the flip flops would reappear the next day.
Yesterday evening, they were gone again. I carefully scanned the row after row of shoes. One of the young men lounging at the picnic table in the courtyard noticed my distress. At the Aroma Daily there were always at least a couple of itinerant guys hanging around the courtyard or lobby. Some were tuk-tuk drivers and guides. Others I guessed were friends or family of the guesthouse staff. They seemed quite comfortable often dispensing with shirts and taking advantage of any available elevated horizontal surface.
I didn't recognize the guy on the picnic bench but he seemed to know me. He asked what was the matter and I explained that I couldn't find my flip flops.
“I know them! I know your shoes!” He appeared very exuberant as he jumped up from the picnic bench and began aiding us in the search. “Are these them?” he asked several time pointing to various pairs.
The young man identified some leather sandals and asked me again. I shook my head and suddenly noticed his black flip flops looked awfully familiar. I hesitated before saying, “Actually, they look like the ones you have there.”
“Oh...” he said freezing in mid-search. He looked down at his feet. “Sorry.” He took off the flip flops and gave them to me. They were definitely my missing ones. The brand was one I'd only seen in Sri Lanka. The young man, now barefoot, was looking very sheepish. Even though they were mine I felt bad for taking them.
I apologized and thanked him. “Where are your flip flops?” I asked. “I'll help you find them.”
He shrugged his shoulders and looked absently at the rows of footwear. “I don't know.”
Jean and I went out to dinner and upon returning to the Aroma Daily, considering the matter settled, didn't think anything about leaving our foot gear on the front steps. Venturing out early this morning to catch our bus to our next destination I found that someone had neatly arranged the shoes again. Unfortunately, upon careful study I didn't find my flip flops among those assembled. Alas.
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