Monday, September 23, 2013

Ignorance (and an Hour at the Nail Salon)

I stared down at my toenails. 

They were beginning to resemble chipped paint, from an old, rusty automobile,
only, one might describe that as “vintage” or “classic”, or even . . . “charming”.

It was a Friday afternoon, and I had an hour to spare – time for an overhaul. 

I went to my “regular” place, where the nail technicians speak very little English.
BUT, I am not there to have a discussion about world politics,
     and small talk bores me, so that suits me just fine.

I, once, read an online review by a customer who could speak Vietnamese. 
She indicated that the nail technicians were all taking trash about the customers.
I asked myself if that bothered me. 

     “NO,” was my response.

As long as they do a good job, I don’t care what they have to say about my
     “charming” toenails (or, any other part of my body, for that matter).
I just stick my feet in the warm, bubbly, non-judgmental water, press the “seat recline” button on the remote control, close my eyes, and tune everything out.

Sometimes, I do get caught up in the sound of the language.
And, sometimes, I am AMAZED at how MUCH these ladies can talk!
I am not a big talker (in ANY language), but what could they possibly be talking about?  For THAT long??! 

     I wonder . . .

Then, I laugh to myself. 

They are talking about my “charming” feet.

That may be so, I think, but this calf massage feels REALLY good. 

Sometimes, I look at the other customers,
     and try to imagine what the nail technicians might be saying about THEM.

OH, I can have a good time with that . . .

 And, wouldn’t it be great if I COULD speak Vietnamese???
I could spontaneously chime-in on their conversation.
Can you imagine the looks on their faces?
I wonder how you say “Oh, shit!” in Vietnamese??!

Language, in general, fascinates me. 
I always wonder what American English sounds like to foreigners.
I, once, asked a Dutch speaking friend what he thought.

     (Now, DUTCH is a funny sounding language).

With one eyebrow raised, and a semi-frown, he tilted his hand side-to-side,
     and said, “Nothing special,”
which is exactly what I would have guessed. 
After my nails were painted (the color of the day),

     and I sat with my feet under the “toenail dryer” for ten minutes,
I went to the counter to pay my bill.

With a smile and a tip, I said “thank-you” to my nail technician, Aya.
And, maybe she did talk trash about my “charming” toes,
  but when she smiled back at me, I chose to believe that it was sincere,
for ignorance (and an hour at the nail salon)
                                                               . . . is bliss. 


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