I’ll admit it: I have nail salon anxiety. I’m nervous around strangers, and in the common Vietnamese salons, I have a hard time working through their thick accents. My ears are bad enough as is. Communication becomes extremely difficult for me when you consider all the factors. The environment of a salon is odd to me, too. It’s a nightmare if you’re an awkward person. Maybe that’s why I’ve never been to the same nail salon twice, and today is no exception. I scour online reviews and settle for one that has three and a half stars on Yelp!
When I walk in, the only clients left at 5:30 p.m. are an older blonde lady and me. I sign in and notice that almost every client who requested a specific employee requested Kim.
Wow, I thought, this lady must be good. Later, I’m pleased to realize that Kim is doing my nails as well.
The other technician gets me started, but not long in, he leaves to a back room to go tend to the sound of giggling children. I take a seat next to the blonde lady and wait. Her nails are almost done, just drying.
“Wow Kim, these look great!” she exclaims. I comment on her ring and ask how long she’s been married.
“Oh no, this is just an engagement ring,” she says. Kim already knows this.
“She getting married in September,” Kim says. “Have fun on your trip this weekend!” she says, and the blonde lady leaves. I’m the only client left.
I have a moral dilemma every time I get my nails done. I hold lot of love for people of color, but in not wanting to say the wrong thing or offend them, I’m often too quiet. Then, I realize this might come off as rude, too, which is the opposite of what I was going for in the first place. I also know that we come from such different backgrounds, and in the intimate environment of a nail salon, I don’t want to seem racist or entitled, as many people probably do when they walk in. I have to recall the story from the 70s of how the Vietnamese came to do nails in America in the first place. It also helps to remember that these people are probably making more than me anyway.
I notice how tense my hand is as Kim works and try to relax it a little. My hand rests on her hand and I feel a sort of bond between us before we’ve even spoken. There’s some sort of physical validation in just brushing hands with a stranger. Maybe I’m just desperate for human connection. Nevertheless, it means something to me that she’s fine with the closeness.
“What shape you want your nail?” Kim asks. “Coffin, round, square…”
I already have something in mind, but either my words or the language barrier fails me when I try to describe it.
“Show her a picture,” the man says. I do, and I lie, saying my friend suggested I get them.
Why do I lie? I’m not sure. They are sharp, bold nails, so maybe I’m afraid of looking completely crazy. Later, when I get home, our roommate will tell me they look like daggers. My mom will say they look like claws. When she prompts me to show the neighborhood kids, one of them will wince and pull back as if I’ve pinched him. Perfect. Just what I hoped. This will no doubt show my entire high school that I am not prey, but predator.
“Your friend is smart,” Kim says. “She tell you to get these nails so you can protect her.”
It takes me a second to get the joke, but a real laugh comes out of me. When was the last time I laughed with a stranger like this? Kim apologizes and assures me she’s not making fun of me.
Kim is funny. Kim is smart and charismatic, and not at all cold toward me. I confess to her that I don’t get my nails done much.
“Ah, special occasions,” she says. I nod.
Jenny walks in in the middle of my manicure. I don’t know Jenny, but it’s clear that the nail technicians do.
“Jenny! Finally, you’re here!”
“I know,” she sighs, “I’m always late.” The technicians laugh.
“No, we open whenever you want, just for you, Jenny.”
They call the kids out of the back room to say hello to her. Two chubby little kids appear and wave.
“I knew you guys when you were really little and you could sit in my lap, but I don’t think you could sit in my lap anymore,” Jenny says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you guys since December!”
Kim and I talk about graduation and college and I tell her I’m going to study astrophysics because I want to work at NASA. She seems genuinely interested.
“You look like you’d work in medical field or NASA,” she says. “You look like you can do it.” She has no idea how much this means to me.
I have one more confession: the nails were just okay. They weren’t bad. They weren’t perfect, either. I’ve had better before, but I’d never connected with a stranger so quickly. I think the bond between client and nail tech is special, especially when you find someone you click with. It’s about more than just nails. It’s about two different people—from different backgrounds, lives, and experiences—learning to understand each other and enjoy each other’s company through an act of service.
We say a short and sweet goodbye after I pay, as they don’t expect I’ll be back any time soon. Little do they know, I will definitely be coming back well before any special occasion.
