Relaxation means different things to different people
Once or twice a summer I allow myself the sweet indulgence of a pedicure. Nothing fancy for sure— it’s really more of a pedi-factory, where one is lined up and seated with many other women (I have seen a stray male or two over the years).
The place I’ve gone recently is managed by one Asian male, and staffed entirely by Asian girls.
They are all beautiful, graceful and incredibly sweet. Relaxing in my massaging chair I have plenty of opportunity to observe their techniques and unending patience while tending to OPF— or Other People’s Feet.
Not gonna lie—I’ve never been a huge fan of feet.
Although I have tremendous respect for these appendages at the end of our legs—let’s face it, they haul our bodies around and take super abuse, but to me they’re still pretty gross.
Unless you’re my sister Lisa’s feet, which have been so well taken care of her entire life that they still appear brand new. Feet, generally speaking, are kind of ugly.
So anyway, there I am yesterday, my first pedi of the season.I’m lined up with seven or eight other gals, our personal nail colors chosen, and I’m totally relaxed in anticipation of a delightful foot pampering.
To my left is an unoccupied chair, but unfortunately that does not last. The chair becomes occupied. By a thirties-something female. She is clutching a cell phone, which could mean one of two things. A. She needs this phone in case of emergency. B. She’s the rudest biotch in the world who plans on chatting loudly with her bestie during the ENTIRE PEDICURE. We’re not talking texting here, we’re talking personal conversation which can be overheard throughout the entire line up.
Can you guess which of the two things occurred?
I’ll just bet you can, and trust me, yours truly faced the challenge of a lifetime trying to tune her out and enjoy my little piece of heaven.
Please God, forgive me for what I was mentally planning for this woman.
No, it was not pretty, and yes, I’m quite certain it may have slipped through the cracks of legality.
What did impress me, however, was the professionalism of these working girls.
Nary an eye roll or a snicker and believe me I was watching— maybe even trying to encourage a teeny weeny negative reaction, but they just kept on rubbing, patting and polishing.
Kudos to these gals, and boo hiss to the Talker.
Do me a favor lady, leave your stupid phone home on your next pedi-fac visit, cuz truly, none of us cares about your summer vacation plans or what your kids will be wearing.
If this happens again I simply cannot promise to remain silent, or to keep my fist from introducing itself to your face.
Consider yourself lucky that my feet will be unavailable when making my point.
I’ll let you readers know before my next appointment—we might all want to.
