Monday, October 29, 2007

Torture, just like in "Saw"

Since I had to leave work a bit early and run a work-related errand, I thought I should also stop and get my nails fixed. I mean, my nails were keeping me from realizing my full work potential, and I really felt that my typing time could be increased by fixing this problem still during the work day. (and we wonder why I do PR... spin me right 'round.) I've had sparkly-tipped nails for the better part of the year and I was tired of it all. I wanted my nails short, I wanted my nails black, I wanted it done today. (You know, just in case I felt like taking up rock climbing tomorrow.) After making one illegal U-turn and nearly accidentally running over a guy I dated awhile ago, I found a nail shop that looked only marginally freaky. It was called "Happy Nails," and I figured, "What could be so wrong with that?"

I was able to get right in without an appointment to have the fake nails removed and a manicure on the real nails, and was instructed to sit with my hands in bowls of straight acetone. I sat, and I sat, and I sat...

Then the skin started peeling off my fingers, leaving the fake fingernails totally intact. I thought, "Is this my test? Now am I supposed to dig a key out of a guy's colon to get out of here?" To no avail, I had to sit there and endure the stinging sensation while I watched a small Asian woman with a razor blade scrape foot-heel skin off an 80-year-old lady. It was sensory overload.

After nearly an hour, the nail lady grabbed my hands and started chipping off gooey blobs of acrylic with what is officially known as a "nail nipper." (YES it's actually called that. That wasn't a very clever pun referring to the nationality of the owners. Though that would be extremely clever, but very very wrong. So wrong I'm giggling just a little bit.) This was another pain like I've never felt before-- especially when she hit nail bed and drew blood.

The phone rang.

The Asian woman answered, "Hello, Happy Nai..." 
"AAAAHOOOOWWWWWWWWWCCCCHHH!" I screamed. Happy Nails, my ass. SAD NAILS! I was sitting in SAD NAILS. Not Happy Nails. 

Remember in the movie Saw when that guy is crawling through the cage of glass shards? Child's play. Back into the acetone for my hands, this time bleeding into the bowls as I sat there trying not to beat the crap out of the old pedicure lady secretly laughing at my pain. "We almost done here?" I attempted. More chipping, more drilling, and finally success with shiny black fingernails.

Beauty is pain; but after 90-minutes of sheer hell, I emerged from Happy Nails, well, happy about my nails. Not that I'd like to do it again anytime soon, maybe just an experience a little better than being locked in a timed head-trap poised to spring my face in two. 

But just a little. Happy Halloween.


Lillian said...

I have never been so anxious to embrace the term "granola" as I am now after reading this.

Holly said...

"Granola" isn't bad, as long as deodorant factors into the equation!

And yes, after today's experience, I'd give up getting my nails done. Or, "beautifying America," as my college roommate used to call it.

Anonymous said...

Whoa...whoa...whoa! Holly approves of "granola"? I thought there was a weird wobble to the spin of the Earth today.

Holly said...

No! I didn't say "Holly is 'granola.'"

I'm just not going to condemn those who choose the lifestyle. You know, like people who own dogs.

...who are generally 'granola.'

Maybe I take it all back. :)

Anonymous said...

I didn't say you were granola, I'm just surprised at your tolerance towards our Granola Americans.

(Speaking of which, I have a pumpkin carved like a Grateful Dead SYF sitting on my desk right now).

Holly said...

Of course you do.

Hippy freak.