Having a week off with it being half term, I decided I’d have a proper stab at the sock story task from last week. Here goes…
My life to date had been a hard one. I arrived on these shores as an immigrant. I was lucky that I had a trade in demand, but I was in need of a home and someone to employ me. It was not long before both of these needs were met. However, my working conditions were poor, my job repetitive, I had no autonomy, and I was regularly walked all over. I didn’t get regular breaks and it was not long before each fibre of my being ached. My leisure time was a tale of two extremes: I either found myself caught up in whirlwind of activity I could not control, or shut away in a dark place. Needless to say I was not, and indeed am not, in the best of health and I suspect it won’t be long before my days are done.
There has been one saving grace; I have had my wonderful twin brother alongside me throughout. However, I do not want you to be sad. This is ultimately a tale of triumph against the odds. I suspect that you’re now thinking, oh, another one of those rags to riches stories. But bear with me a little longer as I’m afraid there’s something’s afoot. Pardon the pun. You see my name’s Sarah and I’m a sock. Yes, you read that correctly.
The week in question started off much as any other. I was woken blearily from my slumber in the sock drawer by a pudgy pink hand groping around. My twin brother and I tried to nestle down out the way but it was to no avail. The scraggy nails caught on my material as the fingers closed around me. I was elevated skyward with considerable speed before being lowered, rolled up and pulled onto a puffy, calloused foot.
My employer, who is slob-like, lumbered to his feet, and I felt his entire weight pressing down on me. I couldn’t help but groan. Of course his foot had no sympathy for me. “Man up”, he said, “Count yourself lucky he doesn’t wear you all day every day”. Not long afterwards I was being plunged into darkness. I could tell from the smell that this was the usual training shoe, not only dark and claustrophobic, but nauseating too. I passed the rest of the day in a trance before being peeled off and deposited in the basket of shame.
In all my years as a sock, I am yet to work out which place is worse: the trainer or the laundry basket. At least in the latter I was reunited with Samuel, my twin brother, and there is a bit more space. The downside is that whilst the smell isn’t quite as pungent, you spend a hell of a lot more time in there than in the trainer! Plus by the end of the week (or two) it isn’t half cramped what with all the dirty items jostling for a bit of extra space and a bit of fresh air. I can’t explain how overwhelming the smell is, especially when you realise that the main culprit is you. I mean you cannot escape yourself much as you might try. It always seems like whether I’m a leftie or a rightie, I end up on the smelliest foot.
Anyway, laundry day eventually came around. The basket of shame was upended and after a rough landing on the floor, I was gathered up roughly and placed into the machine of doom. It is after all a well known fact that these machines eat socks; each wash is a dice with death. It was not long before the shiny silver cylinder was filling with water and I was caught in the mad scramble to the surface, fighting with the other items to try to get my head above the water line and take a deep breath to nourish me during the agitation phase. With that at an end I knew the next phase was the release of the detergent. Unfortunately so did all the other items. We fought each other, trying to steer clear of worst of the perfumed torrent. Yes, we like to smell fresh and be clean, but when that soap first arrives in the drum it is enough to knock you out with its artificial floral aroma. After more agitation, the water level finally began to drop and I knew I was on the home run. I cannot downplay the spin cycle though. It is so disorientating and the force plasters you against the drum wall. I breathed a sigh of relief as finally the machine was still. But as if that’s not all punishment enough, I was shaken vigorously before being loaded in the dryer and roasted for an age.
I had barely got back my breath after the cycle had stopped, let alone managed to untangle myself from amongst the other items when the door was opened and the chubby pink hand once again groped around. It settled on a navy blue hoody and seeming pleased with its catch, pulled it free in one swift motion. I found myself floating upwards too, it suddenly dawning on me that I should still be at ground zero. I realised too late that I was caught up in the hoody’s hood. I felt my ears pop as I climbed to an unknown altitude, clinging on for dear life as I went upside down and saw for myself the height to which I had climbed. I was now a long way above the ground, further than I’d ever been before. I had no time to appreciate the view, I was too busy panicking that there was no way I could jump to safety and make my way back to the machine and to Samuel. My life might have been insufferable, but I could not bear to be parted from him.
I quickly realised that the only way to survive was to stay tucked into the hoody until laundry day came around again and hopefully our slob would reunite us. The hoody didn’t seem to notice that it had acquired a passenger so I decided that at least it wasn’t a hostile hoody; the sort you hear of in stories about ones that beat people up. Each of my fibres was quivering with the shock of my ordeal thus far. It seems I’m not good with heights either as I started to feel queasy. Amazingly, the hoodie spoke: “I get the impression you’re not feeling too good” it said softly. “If you fancy an adventure from this height, the best plan is not to look down.” I tried to take its advice on board and slowly my stomach settled…only to be upset again by the fear of leaving Samuel behind.
As if reading my mind, the hoody reassured me that I was not too old for an adventure and should treat this as such. The hoody was right: this would be something to tell Samuel about. We might not have been able to share it together but he could live it vicariously through me. That thought fired me up and I decided I would try to take in as much as I could. Once again I peeked out over the rim of the hood and not looking down, took in the view properly.
There was so much to see from up here. I was used to everything towering above me yet now I was looking down on the things that had once seemed so big. As my employer paused in the kitchen, I realised that many of the things I had feared therein no longer looked as ominous. Even the machine of doom seemed tame; its porthole nicely in proportion now and no longer glinting menacingly.
Yet whilst objects seemed less scary, the world itself seemed more expansive. By now we were outside and although I was really enjoying feeling the breeze through my fibres, I was actually feeling a little scared. I could see much further than I was used to and that made me feel very small again. From up here I could understand why, as a sock, I was so used to being walked all over: the world is a big place; never-ending it seems. Before I had chance to freak out, I was moving downwards and sideways and was suddenly sandwiched between my employer’s back and a new object I didn’t recognise but was soon informed was a seat. I soon knew where we were though as I heard the roar of the motor.
My employer soon stopped the motor and we were back outside. I drank in a good gulp of air, shook myself back into shape, and peeked out once more. We were traversing an area full of stationary motor boxes and were indoors again. According to the hoody, this was “Asda” which is where humans go to buy lots of different things, including the food they eat. The environment was bright and full of other people, all pushing wheelie baskets stocked full of food. I was dazed by all the different items. There was so much choice, walls of different ingredients. My employer walked up and down each one though and soon the novelty value began to wear off. The lights were making my eyes spin and my senses felt so assaulted by all the noises that I just didn’t know what to do. I shrank back into the hood.
Eventually I felt some fresher air and poked my toe out, trying to reorient myself into the world. We were back outside but it was no fun now. I quickly retreated into the hoody as water gushed towards me. The machine of doom was nowhere in sight and yet here I was getting soggy. Rain, they call it. Yuk. The hoody warned me to hold on tight now as our employer might just put up the hood to keep himself dry. I gripped tightly as I found myself flying forwards and downwards, before being plunged into a mass of thick, soft greasy worms. Here I landed and being tired by this time and still slightly disorientated from the “Asda” experience, I lost my grasp of the hoody and instead hung on to the worms.
Back in the motor box now, the hood was pulled down and I was left sitting atop the worms. Suddenly the chubby pink hand was inching its way towards me. I recoiled but the hand was larger than me and soon I was in its grasp. “What are you doing here?” my employer exclaimed. I found myself being rolled up and stuffed into a new location which I discovered was a trouser pocket. It was dark but cosy and I no longer had to cling on for dear life. I breathed a sigh of relief.
The motor box stopped and there was a flurry of activity but it seemed I had been forgotten about for the time being. I poked my toe out into the world as I learnt from the friendly trousers about new objects I’d not seen before. My employer was unloading his food from “Asda” into a tall boy, a device which keeps things fresh. In the background was a long humming noise, followed by a ping. Apparently after going to “Asda”, humans sometimes use a ping machine to cook their food. They then eat it using a stabber and cutter. The stabber goes in the left hand and the cutter the right, unless they’re only using the stabber, in which case it is used in the left hand. Sometimes they use a scooper too. It all seems very complicated.
I was feeling very pleased with my new found knowledge but my freedom was not to last any longer. My employer must have remembered me, because the thick pink fingers were suddenly tugging me free from the trousers. Back once more with Samuel I realised that whilst my day had been different, it had been just as hard as that of a day as myself. Perhaps in this life everyone has their own struggles and it was not about changing what I did, but how I thought about it.
Creative Musings from StripedKat 