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Monday, July 28, 2008


I really need to get a manicure. My nails are all different lengths and jagged and my cuticles look horrible. They are a symbol of how "Blah" I feel and I think maybe if I got them done, I would feel better. There are two problems though: 1. I have negative money...that's right, NEGATIVE. 2. My last manicure experience. Obviously, you can all understand the money problem so the purpose of this post is to explain problem #2.
 Three years ago I went to get my nails manicured the day before my wedding day. I went to a place that someone had given me a gift certificate for because I don't have a place that I go to regularly. I walk in the salon and all the ladies giving pedicures, say "Hello," and proceed to yell for someone from in the back.  A petite lady comes out from the back with her mouth full of food and asks, "You wan you nay-yoo done?" 

Me: Yes, please. I need a manicure.
Lady: You wan pedi-cyoo en mani-cyoo
Me: No just a manicure please.

She then talks in another language to all the other ladies in the salon and it seems like they tell her to do my nails herself.

Lady: You pick cuh-luh
Me: Oh I want a French Manicure
Lady: Oh okay, sit. You wan pay-luh-fin dip? 
Me: Excuse me?
Lady: (Gesturing with her hands) Pay-luh-fin dip? Wax? Fo fy dolluh mo. 
Me: No thanks. (I didn't really understand until later that she was saying Paraffin Dip but I did understand the 5 dollars more and so I said no.)

She points me to a station and I sit down. She begins the manicure process and I try to make conversation telling her it's my wedding the next day hoping that she will do an extra good job but the conversation goes nowhere because although I pride myself on understanding people with accents, I don't understand a word she is saying and I don't think she understands me either. So, I sit in silence and she holds a conversation with one of the ladies on the other side of the salon who is doing a pedicure on someone else. I was amazed that they could hear each other with all the other talking going on. As she pulled out the cuticle trimmer thingy, I started to get nervous.  How is she going to continue her conversation with the lady on the other side of the salon who she keeps looking up at and laughing with while cutting my cuticles? I figure, she is a professional and does this on a daily basis and I will be fine. But, as she starts to trim the dead skin around my finger nails, I feel a pinch and jump and realize that she just cut me. She continues her conversation and doesn't even acknowledge that she just hurt me. I look down and notice that my finger is starting to bleed. She reaches in her bucket of tools, pulls out some clear liquid with no label, and squirts it on my finger. It stings like crazy. She continues on to the next finger and proceeds with her conversation. A few minutes later I feel another painful pinch. She has cut another one of my fingers. Pulling out the unlabeled liquid, she lets out a nervous giggle and smiles at me. Great, now I am going to have bloody scabby fingers for my wedding! I just sit quietly and hope that she will be more careful now. She is down to my last finger, when she cuts me again. I am pissed at this point but I am not one to make a scene in these situations so I just say "Ouch" and look at her to let her know that I noticed this one this time. She smiles back at me, pulls out the stinging liquid,  giggles, and says, "Ohh, you hab teen skeen." WHAT?! I have "thin skin?" That is her reason for cutting me? I can't believe she just blamed me for butchering my fingers? Good thing I have a gift certificate. I would be pretty annoyed if I had to spend my own money for this madness. I just smile back sweetly and pray for her to finish with the trimming. Eventually she finishes with no other incidences. I give her my gift certificate and she takes it back to another lady who works there. Then that lady calls over two other ladies and they all inspect the gift certificate and look up at me as if to determine if I was the kind of person who would bring in a fake gift certificate. They call to the back and a man comes out, inspects the gift certificate, looks at me, and goes and makes a phone call. He hangs up the phone and walks toward me.

Man: Uh, you pay dees tine and use dees nex tine. 
Me: Why? Is my gift certificate not for this place? 
Man: Well, we try to call ownuh but he no ansuh. So you pay dees tine. But don't trow away, you use nex tine. 

Ugh! I was so frustrated by this point, I just paid with my debit card and got out of there. 
Until I find a product to thicken the skin around my cuticles and a place where I can use my fake gift certificate, I refuse to get a manicure.  

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