The Dangers of a Globalized World

Fussy about good theology? Yes.
Fussy about making the grade? Guilty.
Fussy about eating a well-balanced meal? It's true.
Fussy about a clean, military-style made bed? I'll admit it.
Fussy about hygiene? Thankfully.

Fussy about a strict beauty regime, involving makeup, hair, nails, skin care, etc.? Not really.

Perhaps I should be - just ask my dear sorority little sister JoAnn - but I figure a pleasant, natural, well-kept look is about the extent I should go for the sake of day-to-day personal decoration. Essentials in my beauty routine include a shower (complete with soap), SPF 50, and lip balm. But today I was a little bored. And any good Puritan would know that boredom leads straight down the road to perdition... or in this case, to the nail salon.

Tomorrow I will be speaking at Pastor Norland's church about stewardship and Wednesday I will be flying out to the D.C. area to see my family and friends (and Candidacy Day, courtesy of the D.C. Metro Synod). This seemed to call for a flight of fancy, especially since the Uppity East Coasters delight in a well-kept Ann-Taylorized, J.Crew accessorized appearance. So I decided to get my nails done. And no, not just halfway... no siree. Hands and nails.

------------
Public Service Announcement for Confused Seminarians and Graduate Students:
In beauty speak, this is commonly known as a "manicure" and "pedicure," manicure from the Latin manus for "hand" (plus cura, "to care") and pedicure from the Latin pes or pedis (very close to the Greek pod- or pous for "foot"). These two words relate to the process the world understands to be effective hand and foot care.
------------

Now, the last time I had this done, I found the experience to be quite enjoyable. I was with my dear best friend Kelsay Parker - and really, what experience isn't enjoyable with Kelsay, I'd like to know! There is something about participating in beauty regimes that unite a girl with all females worldwide. Whether it is decorating with henna, pierced ears, lace-trimmed colors, looking lovely in a gown or traditional dress, wearing stodgy-yet-fashionable coats to work, preparing hair... it all has a uniting effect: "We have a secret little ladies club of self-care." I thought by getting my nails done I could re-enter into the fabulous world of feminine beauty and mystique. Who knew what would be in store?

But this time, it proved dangerous. Perhaps nearly deadly.

I drove all over tarnation trying to find a blessed place and stumbled across a shopping mall. A shopping mall! Who knew they had them in Indiana? Surely a shopping mall would provide a clean, welcoming environment for an unwitting beauty customer like myself.

"Nail Trix" seemed a little nicer and just as cost-effective as "Le Nails." Plus, it was busy with nice-looking Hoosiers milling around waiting their turn. I wrote my name on the waiting list.
As I turned to sit down, there appeared to be no where to sit and so I continued standing. No big deal. But then about five or six different salon employees came and asked me what I was doing there. Here is a rough verbatim of our conversation (I tried to put it in the accent/vernacular of the individuals involved - I believe the women and men who operate the salon are Vietnamese who have limited English):

Employee 1: "Oh, hello - you wait for nail done?"
Natalie:"Thank you, I'm waiting for an appointment. I just put my name on the list... I can just stand."
Employee 1: "Oh! You stand! You sit, maybe? You find place. I find you place."
(disappears to the back)
Employee 2: "You have name on list? Your name better be on list or you no get nails done!"
Natalie: "My name is on the list."
Employee 3: "What you want done?"
Natalie: "A manicure and pedicure"
Employee 2: "Oh you don't want eyebrow done? All girls want eyebrow!"
Natalie: "No, just the manicure and pedicure will be great, thanks."
Employee 1 (returns): "You find place to sit?"
Natalie (thinking "you said you were going to find a place"): "No, but I'm fine... I'll just wait."
Employee 4 (walking up from the back): "I be done soon. You find place to sit."
Natalie: "I'm fine, I"ll just wait, thanks."
Employee 5: "I done faster than her - I do your nail."
Natalie: "Okay, whatever works best for you."
A seat opens up and I sit down next to a woman laughing at this entire exchange.
Employee 4: "I finish faster than her - you come sit in chair."

I went and sat in the tall pedicure chair and watch in horror as she simply drains the water from the last woman and fills it up with water for me - no scrubbing or disinfect apparently needed. But maybe she knows better than me? I can roll with it.

As I'm enjoying the warm water and bubbles, Employee 5 is continuing to work on the feet of the woman next to me. This woman is Irish and we strike up a brief conversation. Then Employee 5 returns and speaks to the woman:

Employee 5: "You sit... dry nail."
Irish Woman: "When can I get up?"
Employee 5: "You sit!"
Irish Woman: "May I pay?"
Employee 5: "Yes, you pay."
Irish Woman: "How much?"
Employee 5: "[cannot understand her]"
Irish Woman: "What?"
Natalie: It is $15 (I had seen the sign)
Employee 5: "Yes."
The Irish woman, only here visiting her daughter for two weeks, plunks down $35.
Natalie: "You just put down $35. It is only $15."
The Irish woman puts down $10.
Natalie: "You need to put the $5 back in - and you should probably give her a tip - maybe three or four extra dollars."
The Irish woman puts down a total of $20 and says "Service was terrible! I don't want to give her more!" I don't say anything. Employee 5 picks up the money and says "Thank you - come back soon!"

Back to my own chair with Employee 4. She sits down and begins attacking my feet with various and sundry equipment. I never knew a clipper could hurt! And my hackles rose as she attached a straight blade to some contraption and then I observed loads of flesh from my feet fall onto the towel below. How blood did not flow - I'll never know. Then she took a scrub with the same consistency of steel wool and rubbed any feeling I had left off of the bottom of my feet. I had noted on the board outside that some sort of massage was also included. There is no better way to make me completely relaxed and happy than to rub my feet, so I was looking forward to this. I was ready to pour out an extra measure of blessing on any one person who was willing to do the job. And then she began. Her claws dug into the lines of my feet and I think my sinews and tendons are now permanently separated from the muscles. It was not the relaxing experience I had expected. Perhaps it is a cultural difference? Maybe Vietnamese people like painful, nail-digging massages. But I'm not going to pass judgment or make gross generalizations. My dear Vietnamese friends never seemed like they were really into pain...

Finally, the pain was over and I was recovering Employee 4 asked, "What color you want on nail - you want color or French?" I'm not sure what "French" is, but color I know. So I requested a dark pink, maybe a mauve? She comes out with blood red and "power suit pink." After negotiating my own versus her personal preference, I ended up with a deep berry color. It will do. Who knew a small Asian lady could apply such pressure in matters physical and decision-making?

As she led me over to experience the same high quality of hygiene and brute-force hand massage, another employee (Employee 6) sauntered over. She was falling out of her teeny-weeny blue polka-dot tankini... actually it was just a tank top... and proceeded to whisper sweet nothings in her native language to Employee 4. They were looking over my shoulder and giggling and I couldn't quite figure out if they were talking about me or another employee or another patron. What I wouldn't give to have had a firm grasp of Asian languages in that moment.

After my nails were turned the cheery berry red, I was led over to some UV lamps to dry.
Employee 4: "You sit. You sit five minute and go home."
Natalie said: "Okay. Thank you."
Natalie thought: "Never again. Indeed, I go home. I stay home."

Beauty seems more painful than its worth.

My Nails.
(just kidding...)