grace grits and gardening

ramblings from an arkansas farm girl

Nail Salon Switcheroo

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Typically I leave my neighborhood nail salon drafting a blog post in my head and thinking did that really just happen? Did she really just put handmade homemade bejeweled wooden shoes on my feet? or Did the floor really flood around my spa chair? 


One day last week, I pulled a bit of a switcheroo on the nail ladies. I gave them a bit of their own strange medicine, something for them to chitter-chatter about on their own Vietnamese blog.
After three days of wallowing around suffering from severe allergies, I decided a manicure/pedicure was just what I needed. I wanted to sit and be pampered (as pampered as one can be at this certain nail salon). I needed to be carried away to a peaceful place, some other place, a place with no allergen-filled spring air.
Give me the works, I said.  I don’t feel well, so I just need to sit here. No rush. They were beyond ecstatic.
So what if I had to listen to a painful rendition of Paper Roses. 
I knew the harsh overhead lights would bother my pounding head, clogged tight with mountain cedar. So, in a brilliant move, I decided to take my sleep mask with me to block the glare and help me relax. (My niece, Taylor, gave me this sleep mask for Christmas. It is magical! Not only does it block the light, but I fall into a deeper sleep which helps mask {no pun intended} John’s snoring.)
Ok, so it looks spooky-crazy, with eyes painted on the outside. It was just crazy enough for the nail salon. 

PayBackTime…

As soon as I put it on I heard…

Đó là freaky! Vì vậy đáng sợ. Người phụ nữ da trắng điên này là điên, nhưng chúng tôi sẽ làm ngón chân của cô vì cô ấy có tiền cho chúng tôi!
I smiled and ignored the nail ladies as usual.

In total blackness, I completely zoned out. I’m certain the customer who came in and sat in the spa chair next to me immediately began blogging about her insane spa experience. And to that lady I say, you are very welcome.

talya

Musical Pairing:

Paper Roses, Marie Osmond

Patriotic Toes

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Tina: You want flag?

Me: Excuse me?

Tina: We do flag.

Me: What? I don’t understand.

Tina: On you toes? You want flag? Red and blue?

Me: Do I want a flag painted on my toes?

Ok by now these people should know I don’t do stars or flowers or smiley faces or anything on my toes. I’m boring.

Tina: We do for Forf of July.

Me: No no no. Just stick to the plain color. No decoration.

Tina looked sad. I hate to disappoint. But not bad enough to have striped toes for my birthday…


About this time a girl came rushing into the salon which instantly cheered them. A new customer! Yippee. Maybe she would want the flag.

She was directed to the spa chair next to me where she immediate set up shop. Literally. Very, very, important and busy this one. 

I wanted to smack her. I knew right off she would not want the flag. Relax already. We are getting our toes done.

Relaxing wasn’t in her nature. She was tense and pinched, her voice clipped. Before her old polish was removed, she made two cell phone calls, speaking instructions hastily, very to-the-point. She left messages both times as I’m certain her calls were being screened. 

Kim: You want manicure too?

VeryBusyPerson: No. No time. Just a pedicure. Thank you. 

Kim: Yes, ok. 

What!? My mouth gaped I’m sure. What do you mean Yes, Ok. You people are going to let a captive manicure walk out the door? What about the flag? Aren’t you gonna ask if she wants a flag!  

Suddenly with this VeryImportantOne, the salon ladies had developed a filter. They never badgered her, never questioned her lack of a manicure or even offered a flag. 

Maybe they assume a rude person is unpatriotic? 

I looked over and she had her day planner spread across her lap. Every fifteen minutes was filled with an important meeting, the book stuffed with papers. I almost said, you know there’s a calendar on your iPhone, but I thought better of it. Somehow I think she likes toting around a big King James-looking calendar.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the foot massage. The salon atmosphere was completely different today. Phantom of the Opera played. Not the typical salon soundtrack. Perhaps Ms. Business Girl ordered this serious music in advance.

multitasking 
Suddenly I hear tap tap tap peck peck taptaptaptap pop pop pop pop tap. Very Very rapid fire typing sounding like a morse code machine. This chick is balancing a previously unseen laptop on her thighs while getting a pedicure. A very accomplished typist which I admire, but as she types a fortissimo spreadsheet I want to scream. Her cell phone text messages continue to roll in, constantly beeping. 
texting

The UPS man walked in with a delivery. If the package was for my spa mate I would truly be impressed…

I left happy and secure with the knowledge that even at my peak, raising kids, working 40 hours, shuttling back and forth to games and school functions, I was NEVER that busy and important. And I’m proud to be boring and patriotic without having stars and stripes on my toes. 

talya

Musical Pairings:

Superwoman, Alicia Keys
Ice Ice Baby, Vanilla Ice

Yet Another Insane Nail Salon Story

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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)



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