Chapter 4-Rise and Fall of the Clackers

A few weeks ago I made a return visit to the Department of Social Services (DSS) office. I had to turn in my "proof of income" or as I like to call it "proof of no income". Everyone in the office was very nice. It was easy, peasy, lemon-squeezy. I exited the office and immediately noticed someone close behind me. The only way I could tell was by the sound. Clack, clack, clack, clack

I was being trailed by a Clacker. You know...a Clacker.

Clacker (noun) a woman, usually career-oriented, who wears shoes or boots with medium to high heels that make a distinctive, audible noise or "clack" on non-carpeted surfaces. Often used in the negative to denote women who attempts to intimidate other people (usually subordinates or co-workers) by exaggerating the noise the shoe or boot makes (the "clack").

I walked down the tiled hall...clack, clack, clack...down a flight of stairs...clack, clack, clack...through the uncarpeted foyer...clack, clack, clack...across one parking lot...clack, clack, clack...though another parking lot...clack, clack, clack...and finally I reached my car. The clacking takes a distinct left and stops when the Clacker reaches her car. There was a brief moment where I thought the Clacker was going to overtake me. I quickened my pace several times, but each time the Clacker quickened hers as well. Needless to say, this whole ordeal left me shaken and more than a little...jealous.

I used to be a Clacker. For the 16 years I worked at the City I was a Clacker. No, I was the Clacker, Uber-Clacker, Head Clacker in Charge. Why walk softly and carry a big stick when you can wear medium to high heel shoes or boots and make that wonderful, seductive, hypnotizing clack on every non-carpeted surface in the building? Some people are all crepe soles and surprise visits. Me? I'm all about announcing my arrival. Heck, I'm all about announcing my approach and my departure. Announcing it with a satisfying clack. I loved the sound of a good clack in the morning. It sounded like victory.

Now I'm just a tennis shoe wearer. Just like all the millions of tennis shoe wearers. Unwittingly skulking around and hating it. No one knows when I'm at the door. No one knows when I'm leaving the area. I can sneak up on people, but where's the fun in that? Really people, there's a reason why the armies wear boots that clack. Clackers inspire awe and sometimes fear. But maybe I'm giving too much credit to a sound a shoe makes. It just occurred to me that the only person who really understood the power behind clacking was me.
I was intimidated by the Clacker at the DSS office because that's how I wanted other people to feel when I was a Clacker. I was somehow above it all because I wore heels in a "flats" friendly office. I wanted to intimidate people with my heavy footfalls. I mourned when we moved from an office building that was almost entirely tile to a newer building with twice as much carpet. It was my own insecurity that led me to become a Clacker.

I was at a hospital the other day visiting a friend. I had come from a visitation so I was a little dressed up. I was wearing medium to high heeled boots and the hospital was exclusively tiled. The clack was deafening. I kept walking on my tiptoes because I couldn't stand everyone looking at me as I passed. For once, I wanted to be unnoticed. Not so I could sneak in for a surprise attack, but because the situation wasn't about me. I wanted the hospital staff to be concentratng on my friend, not my clacking. And I think that means I'm a little more mature than I was the last time I wore my boots. A little more mature and a lot less noisy.