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Tuesday, Nov. 05, 2002 - 10:06 P.M.

Manicured Silence


One of the reasons I have been negligent in my posting is something you'd probably never have guessed. My fingers hurt. More specifically, my right index finger nail hurts. The nail bed. And I mean it hurts BAD, like someone has hammered on it. The sad thing is that I did this to myself. Just cuz everyone else was doing it!

Sometimes I think that if everyone jumped off of a bridge onto concrete, I'd jump too. So when EVERYONE at work ("everyone" being Chicky) got fancy pretty acrylic nails, I wanted them too. Chicky has worn them for more than a decade. Me? Never. Once I bought a pair of Lee Press-on nails, but after a few hours I tore them off. That was about 16 years ago. But this is a new era, a new Ibe. And so I went in search of nails.

Now according to the gals at work, you have 2 basic choices in acrylic nail care. You have the Mexican manicurists and you have the Chinese. The basic, I am told, is that the Chinese shops tend to use drills to file down your nails and the Mexican shops do the filing manually. Not knowing what difference it would make, I decided to find a place that would take me without an appointment. I headed for the mall.

Classy Nails. No, that was the name of the shop. Classy Nails, as opposed to Cheap Slut-Like Nails, I guess. Located in a mall with a big "walk ins welcome" sign. Owned by Chinese. Apparently "walk ins welcome" to the Chinese translates to "You sit down and you wait!" Because that's basically how everyone was greeted when they walked in. Not me however. Not so much because I have a charming personality, but because when I walked in there wasn't a single customer.

I told them I was an acrylic virgin. I chose the nail pattern I wanted, and they began. First, they cut my nails down to a jagged quick. Then they crazy glued these massive claws on. Seriously. So I ask for them to be cut down. I got the look. She took off a negligible amount, and made her "I like long" proclamation. Well, I didn't, and since I was paying for these puppies, I wanted them shorter, look or no look.

Once they were closer to a sane length, they brought out the drills. Yipes. I figured out that this is their way to ensure that you continue to keep the acrylics. Because they grind away all of your own nails, apply more acrylic, and grind some more. I was damn near in tears my fingers were so tender. I have to say though that seeing the cuticle fly all over the place under the grinder is kinda cool.

She had me go wash my hands and then she applied another layer of something. THEN I inquired about the shape. What's with the square ends? I don't like square nails. Uh-oh. THE LOOK. "Next time you tell me BEFO polish!" Ok. Sorry.

As she harshly filed my square nails into the rounded ends I wanted, I couldn't help but overhear the plight of the customer sitting next to me. It seems as though HER manicurist preferred shorter nails, so she cut them so. The customer was saying that they were too short for her liking. First she got the look from the entire store's staff. Then she got yelled at! "WHY YOU SAY THIS? I NOT FINISH! YOU LET ME FINISH! YOU LIKE WHEN FINISH!" I decided it would be best to just sit there and not say nothing!

They must do a good business, because they never did wait on the man who wanted a manicure. They just kept telling him "YOU SIT AND YOU WAIT!" He finally walked out.

So for the past several weeks I have been using my fingernail tips to do everything, and it HURTS. And they don't bend either. So if they get pulled on, it feels like the whole nail may get ripped off. And forget about typing accurately:

This paragraph id the only one that I am not going to do a psell check on so that you can see how the nail hits all keys around and makes typing accurately completly impossible. So I have to redo hal of what I type which amkles postinga real chore!

Oh! The clincher in all of this was that for nearly 40 minutes I sat face to face with this rude woman. And I don't know if it's the speech pathologist in me or if this would catch anyone else's eye. I couldn't help but notice her smock, and the smock all of them wore. White lab coats. I wondered if they had some sense of humor, of if perhaps they ordered the smocks over the phone. Each one, clearly embroidered: "Crassy Nails." How true.


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