As a child I used to shine shoes at Grand Central Station. You never saw a clean shoe until you had it shined by me. One afternoon a bald man in a leather jacket approaches me. "You shine shoes?"

"Hell fucking yeah brother. best shine you ever seen."

"Oil or spit shine?"

"Do I look like a country rube to you sir? I use shoe polish like any respectable shinesman."

"You don't use the spit? ...."

"No, I don't."

The bald man mumbled something indiscernible and walked away. For some reason he seemed really upset that I wouldn't do a spit shine but damned if I was going to sully my patron's shoes with saliva. I still think about that sometimes.