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How I met Katie Couric

by Zack Pine

It's the departure lounge at Chicago O'Hare. I'm between good jobs working one of those shoeshine booths with three chairs on a platform. Got my little box of shoe polish, rags, various extra goodies for the gentlemen, even have a little line of padlocks and other security items.

It's quiet, I'm reading 'USA Today', then there's a buzz in the hall and I see a moving crowd, a swarm of suits. Like Zacheus, I climb up onto my booth to get a better view of the commotion. Three ladies are striding along with the self-important purpose of important people: Deborah Norville, Katie Couric, and Paula Zahn, each woman in her personal zone not acknowledging the rivals alongside her. In tow are what seem to be publicists and stylists; almost everyone is chattering into cell phones. [continues below]

Norville is carrying a foaming latte concoction and a Krispy Kreme donut held by the very tips of her finger tips. Couric and Zahn are toting bottled water. All three women are staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the departure gate.

A stylist is fiddling with Couric's hair as the two are tripping along, Couric on brutally spiked and pointed shoes, which still don't make her taller than 5ft 2in. Ms. Couric stops at my booth. Before she utters a word the publicist is telling her, "Katie, Katie we have to keep moving. We're two minutes behind schedule."

Katie ignores the woman and asks me, "Can you put a little shine on my shoes?" Her shoes are no more than a thin strap and a stiletto heel, but I say, "Yeah, sure. Climb up into the chair."

I sneak a peak at Couric's face. She's wearing a thick mask of makeup that makes her look 25 from a distance and 50 close up. Publicist and stylist are dashing for the shoeshine chairs pulling out wet wipes and tissues; they're wiping away to prepare a seat for Ms. Couric's behind. Katie Couric is so short she has to be helped into the chair. Her legs are good but not that good. [continues below]

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With a flourish I produce my newest, cleanest rag, then I look at the shoe and the foot and decide against it. Instead I apply a microscopic dot of shiner to a cotton bud and with steady hand I clean the straps and heels of Ms. Couric's Manolo Blahnik's. The publicist and stylist are on their knees inspecting my work; they're chattering to each other: "He better not get any of that gunk on her foot".... "Do we even know if that stuff is safe? It's probably never been tested on animals."

Ms. Couric is stabbing at her cellphone: "Matt, Matt? Is Matt there? No? OK, Cecil, I am right on it, just sampling a little shoe shine at O'Hare. I know, yes, mad rush, yes, but hey, I'll see you guys later today... Yeah, sure, of course, OK, OK, I'm on it already. OK..."

I'm done with the shoe treatment. I look Katie Couric square in the eyes. I ask her: "Miss Couric, shall I oil your legs?"

"I beg your pardon?" she says.

"What did he say? What did he say?" ask the stylist and the publicist.

"That'll be $6," I say, "for the shoe shine."

"Give him a 20," Ms. Couric tells the publicist. "And keep the change," she tells me.

Couric and entourage depart. The buzzing crowd follows her. A guy with a tape recorder who says he's from the Chicago Sun Times wants to talk to me. He asks, "What was it like to clean Katie Couric's shoes?"

"They weren't really shoes," I say. "They were more like straps on heels."

"Does Katie Couric have great legs and feet?" he asks. "Did she have a great pedicure?"

"Yes, yes, yes," I tell him. "She's awesome"

Zack Pine, December 2008