Back when I was a broke college kid attending the University of MD, one of the highlighs of my week was going to get my n.ails done. I’m talking a full set of a.crylic nails, air.brush desig.n- the works, honey! I couldn’t afford the $5 extra it would’ve cost for a handpainte.d desi.gn but still- my n.ails always looked nice, at least by my standards back then. The shop I went to was one frequented by broke ass college kids such as myself. To get there, we simply took the campus shuttle to PG Plaza and went to the little shop set up in the back of one of the department stores. They had perhaps 3 stations set up with middle aged Korean nail technicians who spoke nary a word of English. In the back was one guy who I assume had been chosen to be the ONE PERSON trained to use the a.ir b.rush. I think that explained his overall stank attitude. He was rude and I always ended up picking something I didn’t really like because he was just evil. (I felt pressured). It wasn’t the nicest experience, but at the time, it actually seemed to be an indulgence.
Times have surely changed!
I stopped in a small shop in MD this weekend for a p.edicure. The owners of the ship were a hip young Asian couple who greeted you at the door with a smile. As I sat at the p.edicure station, I started paying attention to the n.ail technicians as they started arriving in the shop. ( I had tried to get there before opening so that I wouldn’t have to wait, but there were like 15 people already outside). While I watched these girls walk in, I started to wonder if maybe I was in the wrong profession. Each sauntered in, looking like they’d just gotten in from a fabulous Friday night in the city. Each one of those heffas had shoes that were WAY more expensive than the ones I was wearing and they were rocking designer jeans. Those highlights? Honey, they couldn’t have been less than $300. Their faces were beat the hell down with flawless makeup. And their Movados were way newer than mine. I won’t even talk about the TIffany’s jewelry. OR the damn handbags.
I mean I am paying them to scrape the crust off my ugly feet, and those heffas come in here looking like a million bucks! I comforted myself by allowing myself to blieve that everything they had on was fake, that they probably knew folks who had a business selling bootleg gear on the street. ( hey its ugly but it sure beats feeling jealous of those hos). I think I’ll go back in a couple weeks and try to befriend one, learn their secrets. Maybe they all have some money invested in the shop and that explains their fabulousness. Maybe they all live at home with their parents and spend all their money on looking good. Maybe I could study for a nail license so I too could rock the fabulousness effortlessly. How hard can it be to scrape a corn?
Or maybe, just maybe, those beetches are fakin the funk and and none of that shit is real.
Man it bet not be real.
I think its real though.
I hate them.
Just for that Imma get extra crusty next time. When they spend the $40 from my p.edicure, they will damn sure remember it.
The injustice of it all!