I got a manicure today – the first one in months. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I got a manicure. It’s something I seldom do and that’s not because I don’t like it. The issue is I’m cheap. Today’s manicure cost $35, which included tip. I have to say, though, it looks much better than when I do my own nails, it’s more relaxing (because all I have to do is sit there), and the professional manicures last longer. My homemade manicures tend to smudge within an hour and chip within a day, even if I use Ms. Hansen’s self-titled “protective top coat.” I’m constantly gripping things, folding clothes, scrubbing dishes, holding a pen or dumbbells, scooping dog poop, etc., so my manicures must be heavy duty. I don’t even go to a “real” salon. I go to one of the two “spas” tucked on either side of a business building in a busy shopping center by the local Wal-Mart.

There’s a Fudruckers (I feel like I’m swearing when I say that word) across from it and even a little store called “Mr. Cell Phone Fixer.” That brought a little ray of sunshine to my heart. I hope he gets plenty of business. There’s been a few times in my life where I could have benefited from a Mr. Cell Phone Fixer, like yesterday when I ran 6 miles in the freezing, pouring rain with my i-phone wrapped in a plastic shopping bag. But thankfully, after some TLC, my phone was okay.

There’s also a store in this shopping center that sells cupcakes of all things. There’s a Tropical Smoothie for those who prefer fruit as their source of carbohydrates and beside that an ABC Store for those who prefer ethanol as their source of glucose. Other surrounding stores include The UPS Store, Subway, Great Clips, a dentist office, and an obscure store on the corner.

The people who work in the obscure store appear to be wearing white coats, like they’re doctors or something. I used to think it was a financial advice center / banking branch, as it can easily be seen inside and there are desks out in the open spaced widely apart. They’re probably offering loans to people. I guess that by the look of the people going in and out of it. Yeah, I could read the sign but that would remove the fun. The patrons appear to be in their 20s, mostly men who walk to and from their brand new monstrous pick-up trucks or motorcycles. They typically hold envelopes and the like as they go to and fro. I assume they’re borrowing from their future selves to pay for today’s toys. But, that doesn’t explain the white coats. Maybe they’re selling sperm? Or blood? The former would be more likely, since I would expect to see women entering and leaving if it were a blood donation site.

Anyway, this shopping center is quite the conglomerate of interests and services. I limit my time in the parking lot, especially if I go to the salon next to the ABC store. Have you ever seen a non-mischievous-looking person leave an ABC store? Patrons abscond with long glass neck bottles in hand, surrounded by a brown paper bag. Some of the bags are shaped more rectangularly and stocky-like. The buyers often wear hoods as they walk out, as if they don’t want to be noticed. Thankfully they have the coronavirus to rely on – who would have thought we’d ever require people to wear masks in order to enter the liquor store? I’ve seen some people who take their masks off right after leaving a store. But this isn’t the case when leaving the ABC store. It’s like people don’t want to be recognized. Even my own husband leaves in a dash with his crumpled brown paper bag, the whites of his eyes seen darting back and forth. I watch all this like a princess on her thrown. Except my thrown is the torn seat of a 20-year-old pick up truck with locked doors. But I don’t mind.

Back to the nail salon. I’m normally the only white person in there. This doesn’t bother me; people are friendly. The ladies and gentlemen who work there are from Vietnam. Most customers are African American. I find it funny that today there were a few men in there getting pedicures. Good for them. The woman doing my nails was Vietnamese. She was about 5 feet tall and had her hair dark brown hair cut to chin length. A single bobby pin sat on top of the right side of her head, its purpose to hold back her bangs. Her eyebrows appeared to be partially penciled-on/in. I did make out a few forlorn black hairs that stuck up from the pencil mark, their presence adding verisimilitude to the penciled-in look. A sign behind her on the wall said “Eyebrow wax and color, $24.” My mind wondered to how I’d look with waxed and colored eyebrows. Would I then have to wax and color them forever? The woman doing my manicure wore a white sweater with black snowflakes on it, the sleeves rolled up to ¾ length. I could hardly understand her English. But I did understand when she said, “Look it!” as she held out the clipper tool that contained half an inch of cuticle and dead skin clippings from my fingernails. Before she even applied the polish, my nails looked so much better.

It took me several minutes to pick out a color. Whenever they hand me the color wheel, I’m like a dust particle in space – overwhelmed. It’s a thousand times worse than staring at the color wall at Home Depot trying to choose between blue taffy, robin egg, brilliant blue, dark blue, true blue, and blue sky. I went with pewter purple. And I love the finished, glossy look. I’m four hours post-manicure as I write this, and the color is still intact. No chips here.

The African American lady in the little slot next to me was getting what looked like claws put on her hands. The nails must have been at least an inch long. The manicurist servicing her was getting a workout trying to file them down. The woman had her phone on the desk right beside her. I noticed its screen light up numerous times during the manicure. I wondered if she’d even be able to swipe the screen with her claws on. Seriously, what good can one do with inch-long nails? I guess if she were attacked she could maul her assailant to death. Then I wondered about her occupation. I’d think it’d be hard to type, pick up a child, clean, use tools, or do just about anything useful with those nails on. I’ve never had fake nails, so I don’t know the feeling. Maybe I’m wrong in my assumptions here. I do know that my fresh natural shellac manicure makes me feel good. And I can still do things without them chipping. Maybe claws make some women feel empowered.

The shopping center where I got my manicure is a model of capitalism and one of many reasons I’m grateful to live where I do. The shopping center is about 2 miles from my house. All sorts of people flock to it for various reasons – for manicures and eyebrow waxing, for smoothies and cupcakes, for sandwiches and burgers, for cell phone repair, for alcohol, for dental work and maybe even for blood or other bodily donation. Black people and white people, Asians, and all those in between can meet to exchange goods and services for money. I do wonder how the lady with the nail-claws retrieved money from her wallet, though. Nonetheless, I’m grateful to live in a place where business can thrive. And I’m grateful for my manicure. ~