One of my errands today was to purchase a gift card at a nail salon. Once at the salon, I decided to get a pedicure and watch Dancing with the Stars with the salon staff (nail technician and her adolescent daughter). It was close to closing time for them, so it was fortunate for me that they agreed to take my appointment. Not so fortunate, was the man who came in a few minutes after me. “Yea, uh, I need to get a manicure but just on my right hand. Like, what I need is a set of nails trimmed at a certain angle because I play guitar,” the man informed them.
Being that the nail technician didn’t speak English, her daughter was providing translation services. The daughter told him he would need to make an appointment for another day. “I don’t make appointments for things, I just show up to play guitar and sometimes I don’t even do that.” Then, just as quickly as he entered, he exited in his Tevas, cargo capris and muscle tee.
The nail technician and her daughter looked at me as if to say, “What is wrong with that guy?” I shrugged, started the massage chair again, and continued to watch Dancing with the Stars. A few minutes later, the man returned. This time, he was donning sunglasses even though the sun had set. “OK, I’ll go ahead and make an appointment. Can I get it for like an hour from now because I’m actually going to see my girlfriend later and she likes it when I scratch her back while we’re (inaudible mumble) with my nails on my right hand.” The daughter again told him they couldn’t help him today.
This time, after he left, I made a suggestion, “You might want to lock the door. Even though he just wants his right hand done…” The nail technician nodded at her daughter to lock the door and then said, “Right hand, wrong time.”