We made it to the nail salon right on time. Practically every chair was occupied and my wife looked at me and said that appointments meant nothing in this place. I told her to cool it, she was retired.
The boss’s wife took me first. When she made a move to hit the vibrator switch I told her, ”No massage!” She walked to the back of the salon and never reappeared for at least thirty minutes. Meanwhile, my feet were soaking in the boiling water. By the time she returned they were pretty soggy.
A little Korean boy that belonged to one of the nail artisans was romping all over the place. I don’t think he could speak a word of English but he was as cute as the dickens and he ended up high fiving me. He was very shy but not shy enough to stop goosing one of the female customers who was waiting her turn to sit down.
I watched my manicurist’s face when she first saw my split nail for the first time. It was a look of shock and terror in her eyes as she tried to suppress a grimace. She was probably wondering if a safe had fallen on my toe. I tried to act as nonchalant as possible but it wasn’t easy. In my mind I was thinking she may run faster than I did when that cast iron kitchen sink fell on my toe, but all she did was shake her head.
She scraped and sanded, massaged and tickled me. Old skin and clippings flew in all directions but I never winced. I told her I had a friend who only had nine toes and he asked me to ask her if he could get a discount. She said, ”NO DISCOUNT!” I would hate to be a stand-up comic at a Korean Embalmer’s convention.
To add insult to injury I ended up paying for the toe trimmings. Men have to pay more than women but she never said why. I told her I should get a break because I never use polish. Polish is for sissies. But she turned a deaf ear to me. I gave her a nice tip and now I’m all set until my nails grow back. My feet are as smooth as a baby’s behind and I have more spring in my step than ever.
(photo courtesy of Maggie Smith/Freedigitalphotos.net)
About Jerry Goldberg
