So did I. It only took a short time for my feet to toughen each summer, but even tough feet would fry on Las Vegas summer pavement.
No one I knew ever had tennis shoes until we were in high school.
Only a very few rich kids had 10-speeds with those skinny tires.
Well, if the Las Vegas Leviathan has a problem wearing shoes, this puts me in a quandary, trying to help him find a job.
A long time ago, when I first became acquainted with the Las Vegas Leviathan, I thought perhaps he could work as one of those movie-theater ushers wearing a red uniform and carrying a flashlight with him, pompously escorting patrons to seats in the darkness.
I've never been to Las Vegas, but I assume they have a lot of theaters there, and job opportunities are unlimited.
I forget the reason this didn't fly--this was a few years ago--but anyway, it didn't fly.
So then I thought perhaps he could work as a bell-boy in a hotel, wearing a round cap and red uniform, rushing to be helpful to guests. That'd probably take off more weight than being an usher, and as there's a certain sort of decadent woman who gets turned on by rotund bell-boys, he'd probably get good tips.
When it was pointed out he would have to use the hotel's freight elevator, rather than one of the regular ones, because of weight-limits on what an elevator can carry, that bright idea had to be discarded.
So then I thought perhaps the Las Vegas Leviathan could be one of those guys walking around the congested sidewalks of the city, a sign in front of him, and a sign in back of him, advertising something. Then alas I learned that's not a job commonly available, any more than a job as an Italianate hurdy-gurdy man of yore.
When he got around to mentioning the size of his feet, and that it hurt him to walk, I most recently thought he could be a doorman standing underneath the marquee of a hotel, greeting guests as they came in, and getting tips for doing nothing other than just opening the door for them, and summoning a bell-boy.
Las Vegas has a lot of hotels; I'll bet there's plenty of vacancies for doormen, and with feet that size and him just having to stand there, not walking at all, he's not likely to fall down.
Inbetweentimes, others here generously suggested jobs such as with a carnival freak-show, or starring in pornographic movies.
Now that the Las Vegas Leviathan's revealed that he can't wear shoes, oops, more limits on what he can do in a job.
There's not much of a call for people who work shoeless, other than smashing grapes with their feet, but those jobs are in France, not in Las Vegas.
Then like Saul on the Road to Damascus, it dawned on me.
I never paid much attention to activities going on around swimming pools, but I imagine the people who work at pools run around in skimpy bathing-trunks, barefooted. Even though it's in the middle of a desert, I reasonably assume Las Vegas has dozens and scores and hundreds of swimming pools.
Perhaps the Las Vegas Leviathan should consider going into the life-guarding profession.