I'll Take You To The Nail Shop...just not this one

I'm a girl of routine in a sense.

I park my car the exact same way every time I park in front of my house. When I go to my aunt's house and park in the garage, its the same story. Turn, stop. Reverse, stop. Pull in, realize I'm too far over, reverse again, pull back in straight. Every day.

I arrive at my aunt's house at almost the same time every morning (literally within minutes).

I'm also a girl of consistency. When I write something, the entire document has to be in the same color ink. A slight variation throws me off.

My clothes are separated onto two clothes racks, seeing as my closet space was pilfered by my grandmother. On one rack are all my jeans, hung neatly from lightest to darkest rinse. My capris and shorts are folded on top. On the other rack are my shirts and sweatshirts, organized by style of shirt and color. Yeah, I know.

And once I find something I like, I don't like to do anything different. Every time I go to a restaurant I order a chicken caesar salad...in pricey places like Cheesecake Factory, it's the safest thing to order. The only place that's ever fucked up a chicken caesar salad was the Rainforest Cafe, although RC can mess up a glass of water.

So last night I had second thoughts as I entered the strange nail shop close to Amardo's house. I wanted to get my acrylics soaked off, but didn't want to waste gas going all the way back to my normal nail shops.

I'm never going there again.

I should have known something was wrong when all the male workers in the nail shop were sitting outside playing cards. So ghetto.

They seem to have one delegate who is the ONLY PERSON IN THE SHOP who speaks English. I had to ask THREE TIMES for a soak before they finally understood what I was talking about.

Then the guy who did my soak had shaky hands. He almost pulled a tip right off my nail, possibly damaging it, but I very visibly flinched and scowled and he put my hand back in the acetone to soak some more.

I asked how much it was for a manicure and a soak. By the time I finally got an answer, I didn't want either anymore.

Then he was filing my cuticles and that shit HURT. I was sure I was bleeding. Luckily for him, I wasn't.

He asked me if I wanted a manicure. Hell no. After this terror I just wanted to get out of there.

I figured the least I could do was get them to shape and polish my nails. That ran me an extra $3, but I didn't care. By the way, did I mention the soak cost $10?? It's $5 by my house!!

I was at the final stage of my nail shop horror journey when the woman asked me what color I wanted. I told her, "the color that's already on the table". She looked at me like I was speaking in Russian. So I pointed and said "the one right there". She looked at me again, stupefied. So I walked over to the table and pointed again. "That one." Still no answer. I had to pick the bottle up and shove it in her face for her to understand what I was talking about.

And the bitch couldn't even paint nails right!! My 10 year old cousin could do a better job. She only did the first coat of color and ran off to help someone else. That's bad nail shop etiquette.

Shaky Hand Guy came over to finish the job, and he fucked up almost as soon as the brush touched my nail. At least he put polish on the whole nail...and my fingertips...

I sat in front of a dryer for 15 minutes, and would still be sitting there if I hadn't asked someone if these nails are dry and if I could please go because I had somewhere to be.

And as I was walking out, it sounded like there was some kind of dispute over whether I had paid the right amount. I was almost out the door to freedom (and less stale air) when Shaky Hand Guy told me to stop and wait a minute. I was hoping to God they didn't try charging me anymore because they would have caught a couple of words, whether they understood what I was saying or not.

The end result of the nails isn't bad. It's nothing I couldn't do myself, though, and for much cheaper.