Customer Service, my foot!

I love my toes after a pedicure. But I hate going to them. There are about 6 nails salons in the 2 mile radius of my house. I try always to rotate between them, because I always hate my most recent salon the most and I hate driving more than 2 miles for a pedicure. The service is going to suck anyway.

The most exclusively Asian owned and operated business in the American economy has got to be the nail salon industry. In most other countries, nail beautification is part of the over all beautification process and therefore are extensions of the general beauty parlor or salon. But in the US, these seem to be independently operating units and don’t offer any other services, except in some cases eyebrow, facial or other waxing to smooth out the hirsute parts. But those are still not the norm.

Despite an entire and most hilarious episode of Seinfeld, being dedicated to the non-customer friendly chatter in a language unknown to almost 95 % of their customers, these salon operators don’t seem to have learnt anything.

“weccum, weccum. Wha u waan?”  Turns back at another attendant and yells something which I assume is “ok, here she is again. Hehehehe” and the second half of the hehehe comes with her head turned to me.

“mmm, I need a pedicure”

“okaaaa. Pick coluh”. A noxious mixture of garlic and wintergreen chewing gum hits me.

After 2 or 3 mins of deliberation I choose 3 shades of silver. She impatiently shifts weight on to each side every 20 seconds or so.

“whi one u waan?”

“umm, can I try them and then decide?” turns back “minkja jojaaa e poajijaa maaju Seelveruu” turns around

“okaaaaay, cow insiiii”.

I grab the most tattered and sleaziest weekly celebrity watch magazine that I can find from their choice collection and dip my feet into the more than comfortably warm water. Now the chair needs special mention. Pedicure chairs have, in my opinion the most well thought of design. Their back rests have in built massage systems, with remote controls at the arm rests, which can often be spread out into little tables to accommodate your magazine and may even have a drink holder. The base of the chairs is an elaborate little Jacuzzi for your feet, with little rollers and spinning wheels with soft buds on them.

 “its super hot, can u lower the temperature?”

Turns knobs. “yahaa, kinzuh jika”. At me: “no probemm”.

 She applies different liquids on my nails, all with varying levels of the overpowering smell of Acetone, to remove the existing chunks of polish from my previous botched up home pedicure, continuously chattering in loud screechy tones with other pedicurists in different corners of the shop.  I try to shut it out of my head and concentrate on which Hollywood actresses have recently converted to lesbianism and which ones have the most botox-on-their-face to cellulite-on-their-butt ratio. The massage chair does its bit by alternately boxing my lower back and kneading my shoulder blades.

 She rubs and scuffs with vengeance at my soles and tries to polish off the dead scales off my cracked heels all during several minutes of continuous chatter in unapproving tones with her friends, composed of an equally proportioned mixture of words that sounded like jinggaa, jungaa, kwanzuu, matsu, and thu thu thutting  at my miserable unmendable petrifications and calluses, I was convinced that she thought I was the worst keeper of feet. She would never leave hers in my care! I couldn’t pretend to read any more about Angelina Jolie’s mysterious new girlfriend. I was now worried at how to win my pedicurist’s approval. I smiled at her weakly.

“you waan manicu aauso?”

“umm, okayy” I replied hastily, cursing myself a second later for falling into the guilt trap.

Turns to manicure side of shop “yingaa, ji la ledsum manicuuu”

“umm, actually, I don’t have time for a manicure. No, I don’t want it”.

“ah! U don waan? Why? Look a ur hans. U fingus loo pretty with manicuu. Now, is all chip”.

Oh may be they are chipped and look accursed by the plague of endless dishwashing. I quickly go through a slide show of visions, me washing endless bottles and nipples and those dreadful Dr Browns bottles interior parts, me washing all my precious non stick utensils that I scream at my husband for ever putting into the dishwasher, me bathing my son, me washing hands, me washing, washing, wet hands, chipped nails…, I need a maid, screeeeeemmm, may be she is right…

“um, no, I am good, I don’t need a manicure.”

“ow. Okaaa.” Turns and yells “yiningsu non jaa manicuuu”.

I felt mildly swayed but also proud of myself for not being intimidated into it. “good job Ramya. Stand your ground, just like that”

Strong tap on my feet. “Oh sorry. I didn’t mean to stomp at you”. “thasss okaaaa”.

But now all the exfoliation and peeling of different layers of cuticle and skin had been successfully accomplished. Atleast, that’s all she was willing to do and I had to assume there wasn’t much more she could do to better my hooves.

She wiggled giant foamy toe separators between my toes making them feel oddly cushy and somehow giving me a happy feeling emanating feet up.

“Whi one?”

“huh”

“whi one u waan?” “whi coluh?”

“oh oh, which color, this one.” Umm, I quickly chose one of the three before she got irate. Well they were all sorta the same color and shiny anyways.

 She painted my toes with the quick precision of a miniature artist. Without thinking about the consequences, I exploded into praise, “ That’s great. See I always wonder how deftly you guys paint nails with such thick tipped brushes, which if you look in the proper dimension is as if a wall painting brush was used to paint a window trim.”

“whaa? You nais loo lie waa ?” big mistake!

“umm, no no, see the brush, its so big, but nail, so small. So, u painting with that brush is like .um….” oh Godddd

“okaaaa.” And of course she turns back and yells “ajungsss ini chee mikaalu. Mau mili y miaki killliyii.”

“okaaaa”. “ u waan manicuu?”

See, it’s a trap. Don’t fall. Am I weak enough to fall now? No, I wont. That’s right. Stand my ground.

“ah, No thank you.

“okaaa. Tweny fie dollaa.”

I dry my feet under the specially made table which has fans at the feet level. I take one last look at the worst post pregnancy bodies photo spread. See, I am sooo much better than these fatsos. And they have the money and the personal trainers and…..

“you all donnnnnn. Thank uuuu”

“oh, ok. Thanks, umm that was great. See you.”

I scurry out of there as fast as I can, stepping on the gas and brakes gingerly to avoid getting my polish mushed. Oh look at them, gleaming like pearls. I have gotto do this more often!

Disclaimer: not meant to poke fun at the language or language skills of the pedicure/manicure industry workers. Only to poke fun at their lack of customer service skills.