The Weather

Honest and Unbiased: Nails 4 U

Nails 4 U
Los Angeles, CA
2 Stars

I’m not what you’d call a high maintenance person. I know that most people who say they are not high maintenance are exactly the opposite, but I promise I’m not. I won’t make a fuss if my hair gets wet during a sudden thunderstorm, nor will I complain incessantly about my very tall shoes giving me a very serious case of blisters. But what I do hope for when getting my nails done is to not see any blood.

I needed a manicure for a fancy shmancy event. The minute I walked in, I felt something sticky underneath my sandals. Was it spilled soda? Was it linoleum that had seen harder days? Who knew! All I knew was that a stern, steely-eyed receptionist silently pointed to the rack of nail polish colors available. The more expensive ones were locked away in a glass case like the Hope Diamond.

After perusing for about twenty seconds, she barked to pick a color, because my seat was ready. I settled on a light pink, looking forward to a relaxing half-hour of pampering. That is until the “massage” “chair” began “attacking” my back. Well, more like assaulting my back. Actually, although I’ve never been stabbed to death, I feel like I got the sensory experience of it.

Then with a swift grasp, the manicurist—also steely-eyed—took my fingers and dunked them in a baby kiddie pool full of soapy suds. Minutes passed, my back stabbed until my spine began to bruise, as she methodically sawed off my nails. I didn’t know you could get tennis elbow from sitting, but I somehow managed.

Then as the manicurist cut, I noticed a trickle of red followed by the swish of air on a wound, the painful “aaaaaaaaaargh!” moment that ensues after a paper cut. I pulled back and asked why there was FUCKING BLOOD ON MY HANDS. The response was another swift grasp and a dab of alcohol, which only MADE ME SCREAM MORE.

Maybe it was the shock, but I just sort of sat still, waiting for the David Lynch nightmare to be over. As the manicurist carefully painted each nail like a piece of wooden fence, there it glared at me—the gigantic spurt of red, healing very, very slowly. I stared at it. Long. Hard. Still feeling the Swiss Army knives of the chair pulverizing my liver. I wanted to taste the blood…

And then, without warning, I was snapped back as they instructed me to hold my hands over a teensy little fan that could cause a tornado warning in Lilliput.

The blood… the horror… the horror…

I will say the service was prompt and I was able to get it all done during my lunch break. Plus I got a few compliments when I got back to the office, and at the fancy shmancy soiree that evening!

Two stars for promptness, but loss of stars due to loss of blood.


Honest and Unbiased appears on Fridays in The Weather.

Nadia Osman is a writer and performer based in Los Angeles. If you bring her a sandwich, she will love you forever. Find her on Twitter @msnadiaosman.