Fancy Feet

My girlfriend, Medina, and I visited in Bryant Park one afternoon after work. We got comfortable, slipped off our shoes, and propped our feet up on an empty chair. We were mid-conversation when a middle aged man sat down beside us.

He asked us about the nearest subway and then - without warning - reached over and started to massage our feet. Massage our feet! What in the world?!?!

Medina and I froze and looked at each other in complete shock. For a moment, I thought we were on Candid Camera, but no camera crew was in sight. Then, I checked my Coke in case it had been spiked and I was hallucinating. As I desperately searched for an answer, I realized that I had instead entered into an alternate/parallel universe where this was normal. That was the only possible explanation.

Suddenly, the man spoke mid-massage and began a long spiel about how he works with feet. How he just loves feet. Hmm...

I found my voice, after the feelings of shock and surprise wore off, and mentioned that our feet were pretty dirty from the subway. Subtly implying that he shouldn't touch them. He replied, "Oh, I don't mind" and continued to stroke our big toes. So much for a social cue.

Medina and I tried to maintain composure, but the whole situation was so out-of-control that we couldn't help but laugh. After a few minutes, the man abruptly stopped and excused himself, leaving us completely confused and hysterical. So bizarre.

My only explanation - foot fetish! I used to see ads for this sort of thing on Craigslist. I remember that I seriously considered applying for one when unemployed two years ago. Don't judge - I have nice feet and we were on a tight budget.

Needless to say, our afternoon was no a walk in the park that day.