I worked all day Sunday at The Gallery. While I was sorting the stacks of prints, a guy came in. He was in sweats, not the velour fancy sweats that I some times see people wear, but the heather gray, bunched elastic at the ankle kind of sweats. The kind you wear to do yard work, or schlep around the house in. I asked if he needed help and he said he was just browsing. Then he told me he didn't mean to be out of line, but I had something on my foot. I looked down at my sandal and sure enough there's a piece of tape stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I pulled it off and walked over to the trash to throw it away. Then he told me he thought I had something in my shoe. So I looked, saw nothing and started to walk back towards the stacks, but he got in front of me and said it was still there. He said it was under my foot. So I took my sandal off and looked, nothing there, as I went to put my shoe back on he bent down and started touching my foot and then when I tried to pull my foot back he started massaging it. I pulled my foot away and told him, I thought he should leave. As he left he said, he didn't mean anything by it, I shouldn't be offended.
Creepy! Really creepy! I feel like my foot was violated.
I plan on wearing closed toed shoes to The Gallery in the future.