Humor - grace grits and gardening

Yet Another Insane Nail Salon Story

March 2, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

80 degrees calls for a pedicure. Pulling into the parking lot early, I was happy to see no customers there yet. The five employees were practically in a receiving line, so thrilled to see my neglected toes stroll in. Was I the 5,000th customer on this Leap Day? Would there be balloons? Guess not. After carefully selecting my polish – I debated between “Suzi Loves Cowboys” and “I Don’t Give a Rotterdam!” – I settled into the massage chair with a copy of Bon Appetit, which of course made me hungry. About halfway through the routine, it was still quiet and peaceful, and I began to think this might just be my most uneventful experience at this place. Ever. Knock-on-wood.

A girl walked in to get her legs waxed. Wow. Her whole legs? That must be painful and expensive. The ladies became a bit animated over this. There was chattering and pointing about who would take on this assignment. After a Vietnamese rock-paper-scissors game, the lady already doing my feet, disappeared into the back room with the leg wax girl, and my toes were shuffled off to a lesser technician.

A few minutes later, an older lady came in for a nail fill. She sat near me and was attended to quickly. Still later, a well dressed businessman entered, with a rolled poster tucked underneath his arm. He spoke to the salon owner, explaining that he was selling ads for the Woodrow Wilson High School football calendar to be published next fall. Would the salon purchase a small ad for $100? The owner was suddenly struck mute. No one spoke. Everyone looked around in complete silence. The only sound was a Vietnamese instrumental rendition of Bridge Over Troubled Waters playing in the background. It was awkward.

Suddenly, the nail fill lady jumped in wholeheartedly with both feet and hands speaking to the businessman, as if the salon workers couldn’t hear her – “Yes, that is a good thing to do! A local business should support the local schools. Businesses only want us to support them. They should give back too!” She asked to see the calendar. “Oh that’s a very, very nice calendar. (Two verys with a s-l-o-w emphasis on the last very.) They should definitely buy an ad.” And on and on she went. I became suspicious. They had to be in cahoots! It really was a brilliant routine. The owner never spoke but looked a bit faint, as he wrote out the check. Woodrow Wilson High School can thank the well oiled tag team for that $100.

After the excitement died down, it became quiet again. As my toes dried, I relaxed and listened to my Ipod. I could almost nap. As the technician finished and began putting my flip flops back on, I opened my eyes to see my perfectly polished “Suzi Loves Cowboys” toes perched in bizarro, hand-painted, flowered shoes! “No, those aren’t mine – my flip flops are right there”, I pointed. “No, for you. Gift for you.”

“Huh?”

“Yes, gift.” I sat there stunned with those odd wooden oriental shoes on my feet which so did not go with my blue Dallas Mavericks Western Conference Finals t-shirt and khaki cargo capris. I looked around for John Quinones and the hidden camera.

Was I the 5,000th customer? This was the most peculiar thing. I tried to stand, but it was difficult on hard, 2-inch high, wooden flip flops – similar to those 1970s Dr. Scholls sandals I could never quite maneuver. Not only were they uncomfortable and NOT my style, they were huge on my feet. I clopped to the door like a freakin’ Clydesdale horse – CLOP CLOP CLOP. They watched me wobble to my car in those things – they stood at the window and smiled like they were so proud. Will they expect me to wear these next time? I really must find another salon or move back to Arkansas asap! I wonder if Woodrow Wilson needs a donation for the silent auction?

talya

Musical Pairings:

Simon and Garfunkel, “Bridge Over Troubled Water”
Steve Karmen, “Here Comes the King” (Budweiser Clydesdale Horse jingle)

I pray Alec Baldwin NEVER runs for office.

February 29, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Alec Baldwin will be appearing Friday night in Dallas at the AT&T Performing Arts Center. For one night and one night only, if he makes his flight. The event is being advertised as “An Intimate Evening with Alec Baldwin”. What pray tell will he be doing? Reenacting love scenes from It’s Complicated? Ranting about American Airline flight attendants? I wonder what airline he flies now?Should he once again find himself ejected from his flight for whatever reason, completely missing the intimate evening, my husband could stand in for him. He is often mistaken for Baldwin.

Aloha!

Alec

People frequently approach John to tell him he looks just like Alec Baldwin. It happened last weekend at Uncle Julio’s, as we stuffed our pie holes with fajitas. A lady walked up, seemed a bit shy and embarrassed, but just had to speak to John. “Oh I bet you get that all the time, don’t you?” she giggled, this grown woman. “My husband thought I should come over and tell you.” He waved from across the restaurant. Evidently she really thought he was Alec. I thought she might join us for margaritas. John has paparazzi.

After the real Alec Baldwin was punted from his flight in December, I felt people glare at us at Northpark as we shopped for Christmas gifts. They studied our shopping bags to see which stores Alec visited. Was he cheap? Did he buy expensive gifts? People wondered why he was in Dallas. Was he filming a movie? The Dallas area has become a hot spot for movie production, you know. And it’s not that unusual to see actors and singers in Dallas. I saw Jessica Simpson at PF Chang’s – not that she’s much of an actor or singer.

John flies quite often on business – so far he hasn’t been booted from any flights, but he doesn’t play Words with Friends yet. I hear its addictive.

Baldwin or Boerner?

talya

Musical Pairings:

Alison Krauss, “When You Say Nothing At All”
Keith Urban, “Somebody Like You”

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall

February 18, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

It’s interesting being home in the middle of a “work day”. The neighborhood is totally different between 8-5. Until recently, I was at the bank during these hours and missed this time slot at home – unless I was sick in which case I was drugged on Nyquil. I love Nyquil. Although it makes me do crazy things sometimes…

Until I left my banking job, I never realized a yellow school bus drives down our street around 3:30 every afternoon. I find this strange in the inner city where we live, but I suppose this is very necessary – kids in Dallas are bussed all over the city in over 1,700 yellow school buses. I just never much thought about it. I always equate school buses to little rural schools out in the country – like where I grew up.

Did you ride a school bus? I’m not referring to weekly basketball games with the team or the annual field trip to the zoo, but EverySingleDay in Elementary School? Because you lived out in the boonies? I was envious of those kids who lived in town. They were so lucky to walk to school. I wanted to move into town to the new Keiser housing project and walk with my friends. Not fair!

Sandy Robinson
My bus driver:)

Riding the bus was traumatic. On the first day of school, my mother and I followed along in her car behind the bus the entire route, so that I would know exactly where Mr. Robinson was taking me each afternoon, before dropping me off at home. My mother was a saint to do this. Driving all over Mississippi County gravel roads eating bus dust for at least an hour and a half, while I’m sure I was begging to be home schooled. Had I only known about home schooling… After that first day – or maybe she did it for a week – I was forced to grit my teeth and ride the bus.

My bus route changed slightly from year to year. Why, I’m not sure? Maybe a ditch flooded and a road was completely washed away changing the school district boundaries?? There were several years that I was the first person picked up – before sunrise. I watched for the bus from the back porch off the kitchen. I stood there and scribbled on the door frame in No. 2 pencil, “I am so sleepy”. My mother left my mark there for a long time before re-painting. I waited and watched each morning, nauseous the entire time, silently praying that Mr. Robinson had flipped the bus into Clide Barnett’s wheat field in the 7 minutes between school and my house. I didn’t want him to be injured or anything – I really liked Mr. Robinson – but I hated that school bus. But it always showed up, driving down Highway 140 in the dark, those unmistakeable bus lights glowing in the distance. I walked as slowly as possibly down our lonnnngggg driveway like it was a death march with my mother standing on the carport in her robe yelling, “Hurry! You’re gonna miss the bus!” I knew I couldn’t be that lucky. I just knew it was a matter of time before one of those rickety bridges we crossed would collapse with me inside. It was simple math.

These kids were late for school.

After school, the route was reversed, and I was the very last child to leave the bus, well after dark, getting home after the evening news. It sucked. Never mind that the bus turned north onto Highway 101 ten yards from my house! I could see my house. I could practically touch my house! I was not allowed to get off until we circled the entire county and looped back on Highway 140 directly in front of my driveway. I wanted to scream every afternoon “Let me off!!! My house is right there!” as we turned in the opposite direction. I could have an extra hour and a half to watch I Dream of Jeannie or Gilligan or read. I considered opening that emergency door in the back of the bus but would an alarm sound?

WHAT, pray tell, was my mother doing during this time? Why couldn’t she drive me to school? A mere 7 minute drive – 14 round trip – compared to 3 hours per day I was spending in that dusty bus!!! I knew very well that she drove to Keiser every single day for groceries and gossip… She could easily do that in the morning after dropping me off. I was totally on to her. Later, when I became a mother of two small children, I understood that this was, of course, extra free baby sitting time for my mother, courtesy of the MissCo School District. But I’m still just a tad bitter.

Some years for whatever reason, I was the last person picked up in the morning. This allowed me more time to sleep, which was a nice perk; however, by the time I boarded, the bus was crammed packed with wild kids – some had been on the bus for nearly 2 hours – and there was no place to even think about sitting. For a shy kid like me, this was distressing. I only had to brace my legs and hold on to the back of a seat for 7 minutes, trying my best not to fall into the nasty aisle. Add to this, the certain group of mean girls (who shall remain nameless), who rifled through my purse every single morning and stole my milk money. Sometimes I just handed over my milk money each morning as I boarded – like bus fare. I hated milk anyway. But I hid my lunch money in my saddle oxford so the mean girls would not know. I loved lunch. Mr. Robinson, our bus driver, had to know this was going on, but he let us deal with our own issues. Kids fought their own battles then…not that I ever fought.

With this LIFO bus route, they finally let me get off first in the afternoon at that Highway 101 intersection. I walked through the ditch and over into our yard, adding months and possibly years to my life. I would gladly let the mean girls have my purse each morning to get home by 4:00 instead of 6:00.

Today, as that bus drives by my house each afternoon I wonder about those kids inside. The buses are probably different now with cameras for the driver to maintain control. Those kids probably each have an iPhone which keeps them busy playing Angry Birds and texting. Or maybe they too are traumatized trying to keep their seat mate from stealing their $250 Livestrong Air Max Nikes.

talya

Musical Pairings:

Brownsville Station, “Smokin’ in the Boy’s Room”

Cat Stevens, “Old Schoolyard”

“Even to this day, when I see a school bus it’s just depressing to me. The poor little kids.” Dolly Parton