The jazz shoe bin

Dancing was completely alien to us as a drama class. Even though dance is a huge component of musical theater, we never discussed it — ever. Dance was never taught, mentioned, alluded to, thought about, encouraged, or even adjacent to anything we ever covered.

So when “jazz shoes” were listed on the school supply list one August, suffice it to say we were a little surprised. Some of us were excited to finally start dancing, but many of us had no idea what the hell jazz shoes were or where to get them.

This was a time when online shopping wasn't as instinctual as it is now, meaning many classmates' parents had to wake up and actually take them to a physical store, quite possibly becoming involved in their kid's education for the first time.

And it wasn't as easy as buying everyday school supplies. The shoes were expensive and only sold at select stores in the more affluent parts of town. When I went, there was only one pair in my size left. (It's a miracle the entire class was able to get it done, honestly.)

Eventually, all of my classmates found and brought in their jazz shoes. Looking back on it, I figure this purchase may have been a serious or passionate milestone for some students, especially those who had never danced. They may have been trying on their first pair of such shoes ever, and they probably took time and care to make sure the shoes fit well and were comfortable. I know I felt a bit sentimental about it; the shoes seemed to mark a milestone of our drama program finally getting “serious.”

Unfortunately, all of that was for nothing — as should've been expected. Not only did we hardly ever use the shoes in the remaining years, Ms. Mxdxxxs actually chose the most chaotic, nonsensical, and ridiculous option for storing them.

Rather than, say, keep them with the rest of our belongings, we were told to write our initials on the inside sole of each shoe with a marker and to then simply dump them, all together, in a giant plastic bin. That bin stayed in the black box, and then anybody in any class that ever needed a pair of jazz shoes could help themselves to any pair out of the box.

Yes, that's right. Our shoes that we each bought and paid for were collected and kept where anyone, of any class, could use them anytime, with absolutely no accountability. It didn't matter if they belonged to said person or not. This wasn't intended for the lone student who couldn't buy a pair or who forgot them. This was the de facto method for storing and using the shoes.

I can't wrap my head around what the hell Ms. Mxdxxxs was thinking with this decision. Digging through the bin was horrible: it smelled disgusting, it was always a mad dash of 20 kids trying to find the “good” pairs before anyone else, and the pair you ended up with may not have even matched, been the right size, or been in usable condition.

Now thankfully, we didn't actually use the shoes very often. There may have been a couple of times where we put them on for use in our own scenes or showcases, really just to say we did. But the point stands. Everything about this and everything else we did in this program was batshit insane.  ❒

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