Existential Crisis No. 13: The Nail Salon

“Hello.”

“You will not believe the experience I just had at that nail place.”

“Oh, God. Which one?”

“The one on sixth. I honestly don’t even know where to start it is so insane. I’ll try to be quick because my phone is at six percent. So I walk in and the entire place is dark, like I’m not even sure if it’s open. And then I hear a lady tell me to come in from some back room. So I wander into the back and she’s set-up at this little nail desk, but the room is pretty big and it’s the only station in there so it’s really empty except for a pile of towels and some cleaning supplies. Basically, things are already bizarre. Then, she asks me what color I want. You know how I always get ballet slipper pink? So I tell her I want ballet slipper pink but she insists on doing glittery red on every nail with a silver sparkly French tip, except for the ring finger, which would be glittery silver with a small flower design.”

“That is the tackiest thing I have ever heard.”

“I know. And we kind of get in a fight about it. Like a legitimate fight. There is real tension over what color my nails should be. You know how I hate confrontation though? So instead of straight up telling her I don’t like it I just make up a lie about needing to have neutral nails for work. So we start looking at neutral colors, bicker a little about those, and finally settle on something.”

“What a mess. Was she Asian?”

“Oh my God, no!”

“I’m just asking because sometimes there are miscommunications with them, you know?”

“No, this lady was white. I’m telling you. This is why you never let white ladies do your nails. They have too many opinions. But hold on, this isn’t even the good part of the story. So we’re chatting for a while and she tells me about her son, how he and his girlfriend were in a long distance relationship for 12 years.”

“What the fuck? 12 years?”

“Yes, 12 years. He was living in the U.S. and she was living in Japan. Anyway, now they’re married with two kids. Then she starts telling me about her daughter. Okay. This is honestly so unbelievable. First of all, she is in the middle of doing my nails. We’ve just gotten over our spat about nail color, she’s dealt with my cuticles, and she’s halfway through filing the nails on my left hand. So nowhere near being done and I have errands to run this afternoon. I’ve got places to go and people to see, and I know that’s going to sound really insensitive once you hear the rest of the story but just like understand that I was expecting this to be a quick appointment.”

“Oh my God, I am so curious.”

“You have no idea. Basically, she starts telling me about her daughter who is in her 30s, has two kids, not married. Then she goes, ‘Do you want to hear something incredible?’ And I’m thinking to myself, ‘It would be really incredible if you would just finish my damn manicure,’ but instead I say, ‘Absolutely.’ But literally just to be polite. Then she pulls out her iPad and opens Facebook, and I’m thinking, ‘It’s pretty hard to give a manicure when you’re on Facebook,” but obviously I don’t say that. So she pulls up her daughter’s profile and shows me a picture of her in a hospital gown and says, ‘My baby girl just had her leg amputated.’”

“What?”

“Yes. Her daughter just had her leg amputated and she got out her iPad, mid-manicure, to show me pictures.”

“What?”

“Yes, I know. How insane is that? But hold on, hold on. It gets crazier.”

“Wait, why did she have to have her leg amputated?”

“I guess she was in a car crash like ten years ago and her foot never healed right. It always caused her pain so she just decided to amputate it. Anyway, this lady is beaming, smiling ear to ear, telling me about how her 30 year-old daughter wore a pirate costume home from the hospital… Do you get it? Because she has one leg now?”

“Oh my God.”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know. So I’m trying to ask questions but I have no idea how to make polite conversation about the leg amputation of a total stranger. Lucky for me, this lady did not seem concerned with polite conversation because she kept calling her own daughter’s amputated leg a stump.”

“You are kidding.”

“I wish I were kidding. She’s like, ‘Stump this!’ And ‘Stump that!’ It was awful. I mean, maybe it wasn’t awful. Maybe that’s what her daughter calls it. But it felt really awful. She shows me pictures of the stump and videos of her daughter right after surgery. It was way too intimate. Then, as if it could get any crazier, she pulls up a website and starts online shopping for prosthetic fucking legs. Not like by herself, as if she’s forgotten me. We are both sitting there, staring at prosthetic legs together. Not just any prosthetic legs either. They’re designed to look like cowboy boots. They come in all kinds of colors and have that kind of twisting floral design on the calves. But we aren’t just browsing. We are genuinely shopping for a prosthetic leg for her daughter. She’s telling me about how great the price point is and asking if I like the color she’s picked out, which is the turquoise color of cheap jewelry at the Phoenix airport. And this whole prosthetic leg thing is probably a ten to fifteen minute ordeal. I’m just struggling to keep my head above water at this point, you know? I’m trying to stay afloat in the conversation. My mind is all over the place. I’m thinking about how she hasn’t filed a single nail in the past half hour and all of the errands I have to run. I’m wondering how we will ever get back to the manicure from this point in the conversation. I’m sitting there nodding about prosthetic legs and simultaneously desperate to find a graceful way to get this appointment back on track. Not that I didn’t care. I did. I was just so uncomfortable. So caught off guard. As I’m thinking all of this, I realize what a huge bitch I’m being. This poor woman is probably so proud of her daughter going through this really difficult thing and just wants to share that. Then I go down this crazy rabbit hole and I’m thinking, ‘If she’s sharing this really personal story, and all of these intimate details, with a total stranger maybe she’s really lonely. Maybe she doesn’t get to talk to a lot of people about this.’ Not to mention her daughter who made an impossibly difficult decision to improve her quality of life and maybe the quality of life for her two kids who she hopes she can play with more now. Then I realize that while I’m processing all of this, this woman is still pouring her heart out to me and what she really needs is someone to just listen to her and I can’t even do that because I’m having this come-to-God moment of enlightenment. So I try to pay better attention but I still can’t help but think about how bizarre this whole thing is. And now I’m like fixating on my nails, which are only halfway done, and thinking about how this woman’s daughter has ten fewer nails and how that’s a really grim thought but who am I to complain about having to think about heavy things when there are people in the world literally having their legs amputated? People who really bad things are happening to. And then I go even deeper and I’m like, ‘Maybe those things aren’t bad. Maybe it’s really judgmental and like, ableist of me to think of it as bad.’ For this lady, her life isn’t getting worse it’s getting better. Well maybe not better, but not worse. Just different. Not that I’m not thankful for my health. I totally am. Anyway, I basically spiral down this thought path while this woman is still talking about how the prosthetic will fit on her daughter’s stump when the bell hanging over the door rings and someone walks in. And I’m like, ‘Thank God, I’m saved.’ This oldy lady comes in and greets the woman doing my nails and places a mason jar of clear liquid on the nail station and says, verbatim, ‘You have fun with that!’ Mid-manicure, as the woman doing my nails tells me about her daughter’s leg amputation and online shops for prosthetic limbs, her friend walks in and casually delivers moonshine! Anyway. It at least got her off of her iPad and back to finishing my nails but now I’m having like a literal existential crisis. Is that not the most insane story you’ve ever heard? Hello? Sarah? Damnit.”

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