When I turned 17 my mom told me to try and get regular manicures because she used to be a housekeeper for rich men and they always had nice nails.
“Also your father’s nails are horrible. Don’t be like your father,” she added.
Most people feel uncomfortable about nail salons after the breathtaking NY Times piece about the mistreatment to which manicurists are subjected. This would be my first time since the article, and I decided that not going would just hurt more people and that I would tip my nail professional 30%.
The owner of the salon made a blowjob motion to me midway through my manicure, but I’ll get back to this.
So anyway I walked into my usual place, a few blocks from my office, and the owner, who recognizes me as the only man who ever walks in there, brought me to a table in the back. There were plenty of manicurists sitting at their stations, but I am never allowed to sit with them. Instead, whenever I go to this nail salon, I am taken to another table in the back and the owner shouts for her 25-year-old or so daughter to come out and do my nails.
I have two theories about why she makes her daughter do my nails. First theory: her daughter is new and needs practice. Instead of unleashing her on obdurate critics of the female persuasion, why not get some reps on a shy man who is ok with everything?
My second theory is that she wants me to date and/or marry her daughter, and honestly, she has good taste. Not only am I respectful and clearly have a job (provider), but I know the family business! But I digress.
I might add I don’t have a wedding ring but I digress again.
Well anyway midway through my manicure, already feeling uncomfortable about the daughter thing and the fact that workers here may be mistreated, the owner walked up to me and said, “You want?” and quite literally made the universal sign for blowjob (holding a small invisible toilet roll in her mouth and sliding it up and down.)
I was pretty shocked by this. Of course, I’m not an idiot. I said yes please. I knew she meant something else. However, WHAT THE FUCK COULD IT BE?!
“You want?” she said again pantomiming a blowjob.
After finally gathering myself after 2 or 3 seconds, I finally asked, “I’m sorry. What?”
Her daughter, for the first time in months, finally spoke up:
“Oh, water, no thank you,” I answered, my face beet red.
The rest of the manicure went without incident. I walked out (after tipping 30%) and took a deep breath. A homeless woman danced in the street and a police car drove around her to ticket a truck.
All was back to normal.