For those of you out there who have experienced the craziness that is a nail salon, you know that what is supposed to be a pampering experience can often feel like a deleted scene from Mean Girls. Because my nails look 100 times nicer when someone else does them, I allow myself to go through the stress every few weeks in order to keep up with looking like a professional adult (or at least faking it). However, I keep mental notes of the hilarity and have decided to share my findings because I know I can’t be the only one who notices the following.
1. You better know what color you want before you get out of the car- Nowadays, I walk in there knowing a general idea of what color I want because I have learned that if you spend more than 30-45 seconds at the nail polish rack, it is considered a crime. They have something like eight thousand choices, not ordered by color might I add, for your eyes to browse. Even if you thought you wanted a bright red, your eye might catch a nice mauve that sparks your interest. While it isn’t a life-or-death decision, if I’m going to spend $30 on a manicure that is supposed to last for two weeks, I want to pick a color that isn’t going to disgust me in 48 hours. While you’re making your choice, you feel the eye behind you. “Are you ready?” You politely say, “I just need to pick out a color. I will be right there.” Nine to eleven seconds later she is back, asking you again if you are ready. You feel bad saying no, because you are making her wait. Now you start to feel rushed. Panic sets in. There are so many choices. Do I go for something classic or do something trendy? What will go with all of my outfits? So, now that you need your inhaler, you most likely do one of two things: You either pick up the bottle closest to you at eye level, regardless of the color, or you say, “I think I’ll just do French.”
2. If you don’t want a pedicure, come prepared with a power point presentation as to why- Though I consider myself to be quick on my feet, I am not a liar by nature. This all goes out the window when I go to the nail salon, though. No matter what you come in for, be it a refill, a gel manicure or a simple eyebrow wax, they will almost always ask you if you want something else. When you say no, you had better have a reason, because the laser beams that will be shot in your direction are piercing. Sometimes you have to lie to get yourself out of an awkward situation in life; the nail salon is one of these situations. If I get acrylics, they often leave them at a disgustingly long length. I will ask them to file them down, then some more, then some more until finally I lie and say, “Yeah, I need them shorter than this because I play piano.” Then they nod their heads in understanding and file away.
3. Nail pimp- There is often some sort of older man who is the greeter and works the register. He is the one who distributes the clients to the nail artists. Once in a blue moon, he will hop on a station and file a nail or two, but it is a rare and special occasion. Like a celebrity shot in beer pong.
4. Shit-talking is obvious in any language- I don’t need to know what you’re saying to know that you’re pissed off or don’t like someone. I pay close attention when people come into the salon and gauge the reactions of the salon workers. Sometimes you get a lady who will say, “Hi! Can I help you?” followed by something sputtered under her breath in her native tongue that is met by laughter and chatter by the other workers. Translation: “Hi! Can I help you? (I really freaking hate this woman. She always talks about her grandkids.”) Or one I see a lot is when someone comes in and the greeter (mentioned in #3) assigns a nail artist to a client and they are noticeably pissed about it because she and a friend were sitting by the waxing station laughing about something and now she has to get up.
5. Day care- There is almost always a child with a Gameboy sitting at a vacant pedicure station.
6. Don’t be disabled; it confuses them- Whenever I go to a new salon or get a new manicurist, there is some sort of confusion as to a.) What happened to my hand and b.) What kind of discount they will be forced to give me. It almost always results in a crowd of manicurists around the station where I am seated, all talking quickly and throwing out what I assume are numbers as they try to decide on a price. They will smile at you as they do it, as if there is any other reason that the fourteen of you are all leaning over me right now.
