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$4.2B of design recognised at the 2016 Sydney Design Awards City’s leading design celebrated in the Chicago Design Awards Victorian Comprehensive Cancer Centre Dyslexic Design at designjunctionCompare Eco friendly shoe shine chairs for sale for all kinds of use Guangdong Yaodonghua Furniture Boards Co., Ltd. US $30-500 20 Pieces Transaction LevelDrop off Unwrapped Toys throughout the holiday season!Stop in today for the best shoe shine in town!15 minute parking available in front of the store!Ullrich offers all phases of world class shoe repair.Specialize in purse and zipper repairsPittsburgh's only five chair shoe shine standLarge selection of shoe lacesChoose from a variety of shoe polish and all of your shoe care needsCheck us out on Angie's List and be sure to give us a Google Review!Hours of OperationMonday - Friday 9:00 a.m. - 5:00 p.m. Saturday 10:30 a.m. - 2:30 p.m. Holiday Hours Vary Ullrich Shoe Repair 545 Liberty Ave.
Pittsburgh, PA 15222(412) 391-6338Luciano: Shoeshine George wonders why Peoria isn't good enough for Caterpillar HQ Shoe Shine & Leather Care Services Our Shoe Shine Stands are hand crafted and made of quality wood are 2 storage areas. One is located on the left side and the other inside the first step. aluminum foot rests are installed and included in each order. Your shoe shine stand will be completed and ready for delivery in 15 to 20 business days. Ordering is a simple 2 step process Step 1: Select your Stain following stain options are available. (Shoe Shine Stands can not be ordered with out the stain option) Step 2: Select your Shoe Shine Stand Option Shoe Shine Stand without chair (Shipping Charges will be added after your Shoe Shine Stand has been completed)“Making Money” is a series on the different ways that people throughout New York City make money. This is the first installment. “Don’t worry,” Don says, upon hearing that his next customer has never had her shoes shined before.
He instructs her to climb into an office chair bolted to a red-and-gray plywood box the size of a refrigerator, and sit down on a grubby towel printed with the White House’s insignia. “I brought it from home,” he says, pausing for laughter. He throws a stained towel over her knees and skirt, to protect her modesty (“It’s not my birthday!”), and starts in on the story of how Don Ward, who prefers to be known only as Don—“Cher can have only one name; so can I”—runs a successful business shining shoes at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Forty-seventh Street in Manhattan, just south of the headquarters of Fox News. A water-stained sign designed in red marker, duct-taped to another office chair, promises an unspecified “economy discount” and one-hour drop-off service. It also implores customers to “Look at your shoes?” The question mark sits one line below the rest of the text, making the sign half offer and half critique. New York City is full of shoe shiners, and their economy is based on politeness and charm, in addition to convenience.
Overhead is low: a large can of Kiwi polish will cover around fifty pairs of shoes and retails on Amazon for anywhere from $4.29 to $6.99. A jar of shoe dye lasts for only four pairs, and costs between $2.89 and $9.01 on Amazon. Don uses shoe cleaner that he makes himself. It looks a lot like carrot juice, and the formula is classified: “Colonel Sanders has his secret recipes; Don’s total cost of supplies comes to about two hundred bucks a week. Don won’t say how much he makes, but he works from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. and he sees anywhere from forty to sixty customers each day, at a price of five dollars a shine, plus tips. Don’s overhead also includes a fair amount of duct tape. He stands on a piece of carpet that may, at one point, have been white, and that he must tape down every day. (He also tapes up his sign anew each morning.) Don politely declines to discuss his current storage arrangement. But he says that at one point he paid a hundred dollars a month to keep his stand—which he rolled out each morning, and rolled back each evening—safe at night.
Don’s business model is himself. It’s not a stretch to imagine that anyone else, facing the same set of economic circumstances, might fare differently at Forty-seventh and Sixth, a spot Don inherited more than a decade ago. There are advantages to the location: an entrance to the Rockefeller Center stop on the B, D, F, and M trains; plenty of foot traffic; and an unusually open sidewalk. But the move to this location had little do with money. Don’s previous spot, in Grand Central Terminal, was “too political”—too full of the hedge-fund types he likes to mock. Don uses various tools of benign manipulation to attract customers. And your hair looks nice. Can I love your boots?”). Shame (“Look at your boots!”). And appeals to reason (“How do you not clean your dirty shoes, sir? we have the technology.”). Don estimates that only one quarter of his customers are women—this is up from when he started shining shoes in the nineties, when a mere one in nine was female—but his tenderhearted heckling is equal-opportunity, and he does a lot of it.
He also, though, reserves a lightly condescending, if protective, attitude for his female customers, and one suspects that it extends to women in general. “You know how many women I’ve saved?” he says, after coaxing a woman back from the crosswalk toward the safety of the curb. He seems not to be joking even a little. “What kind of world you living in?” he asks the customer with a towel obscuring her underwear. Is she living in reality? He says that certain things happen in reality. He means it literally: things that are certain, and that have grave consequences. “Look at the fuckin’ guy, the Olympic dude,” he says, of Oscar Pistorius. (Don reads the Daily News in the morning, and the Post on the way home.) It’s cold outside, freezing, but Don doesn’t shiver. “I had a man used to tell me, ‘When people tell you who they are the first time, just believe them. You don’t need it confirmed anymore.’” He isn’t keen to explain what that means. His face says that the customer should know.
The unlikely tabloid terrors of city life seem to haunt Don. He’s afraid of watching people get hit by taxi-cabs. He’s wary of muggings, and being pushed into the subway. He notes that it’s only February but already eleven people have died on the tracks. He believes that people are angry now. His anxieties are the sort that pass and do not linger when the sun is out and one is getting one’s shoes shined, but fester and creep after sundown, when the apartment is empty and the night is long. “I fear that one day I’m gonna tell a guy his shoes are dirty, and he’s so goddam mad that he’ll pull out a gun and shoot me.” He pauses, breathes in, shakes his shoulders around, and adds, “But I’m not deterred.” He calls the state of mind he enters at 10 A.M. every day the “Shoe Shine Zone,” and now he hops right back into it to address a tiny woman in sunglasses. “Look at those shoes. Hey, beautiful, let me see those pretty eyes. Let me see your pretty eyes. He says, “I’m a flirt.