Are you sitting comfortably? You may need a hot beverage in hand before reading this. Why…?
Because it’s story time, of course!
Today I wanted to talk nails. It’s not a topic I’ve really spoken about before, I guess because I’m not totally mad on them. They’re just extraordinarily high-maintenance, aren’t they? Seeing as my life is fairly busy, usually I’ll just clip them down to the quick and continue about my week. About six months ago, however, with a friend’s birthday coming up; I decided to get them done professionally…
I remember being a little nervous, but with that said – what could possibly go wrong at a nail salon? All they really do is stick plasticky stuff onto your own nail, file it, paint it, seal it… before you pay an extortionate amount and leave the salon £35 poorer.
So, what could possibly go wrong? Apparently, a lot of things.
I was pleased at the results, don’t get me wrong. I had stiletto nails painted blood-red à la Cruella De Vil, and I felt like the baddest b*tch in the whole of the Cambridgeshire county area (!) But the service I received wasn’t brilliant, and to be honest the entire afternoon felt like a bit of an ordeal. Sigh.
I won’t name and shame the salon in which I got my nails done, this isn’t going to be a scathing review of the salon in general; I think I just got unlucky with the technician I was allocated. All the other technicians seemed warm, chatty and friendly.
Mine seemed like an arse.
He didn’t make conversation the entire time, first of all. We just sit there in silence for two hours (more or less), and every time I’d lean in to talk to the girl next to me, he’d just give me this impatient glare.
I’m not kidding, this guy had a real problem with barking orders at me. There’s no friendly rapport and his customer service skills were next to none. About three-quarters of the way in, I move my hand away from the drying UV light after holding it there for half an hour, to which he yells at me to ‘put it back!’.
I felt like I was being told off at school.
The real clincher for me, though, was when it came to filing my nails. At this point, I’d like to point out that nobody else had a problem with their technician! Mine, however, files my nails with such violence and vigor that he takes a chunk out of my finger.
I *WISH* I could tell you that was hyperbole.
So I’m sat there, bleeding, with every instinct in my body telling me to yell out and go and soak my bloody finger… And this guy says… nothing. For a good fifteen minutes after the fact, he carries on trying to file the same nail on the finger with a chunk taken out of it.
I’m in so. Much. Pain at this point.
So when he e v e n t u a l l y finishes filing my nails, after what seemed like an eternity; he barks at me for getting blood on his nail file and yells at me to go and wash my hands.
You heard correctly, boys and girls. Of course I’m very British about the whole thing, I say sorry, I sit there for another forty agonizing minutes without curbing the bleeding or the stinging. And then?
I pay the full price. Of course I pay the full price. Of course I tell the salon owner to give me a stamp card so I can come back again. Of course I leave with the minimal fuss possible.
(But on the plus side, if I go in for seven more treatments, I get the eighth one at a slightly discounted price!!!!)