Getting to Know Myself
Our Air Canada Nightmare


I got a pedicure yesterday.  I don’t do that as often as I should.  But when I do, I stick my toes into a very fun world. 

My nail salon has a cast of characters fit for a Broadway play.  As far as I can tell, everyone is Vietnamese, not unusual in the world of nails.

The owner (I think) is a man of many talents.  He fixes everything, he answers the phone, he can do a mean manicure if it’s really a busy time, but most of all, he makes us laugh.  If people bring their little kids, he makes them laugh too.  He knows the customers names and what’s going on in their lives.  As far as I can tell, he is there 24/7.

The main woman—I think her name is Lillian—has been there for years.  Her standard line in her charming accent as she polishes anyone’s toes, “That’s a very nice color.”  (I have to restrain myself from saying, “Aw, you say that to everyone.”)  And then there is a revolving door of what appear to be cousins.  I’m not sure if they are just visiting or what, but they are also skilled pedicurists.

There is constant chatter among the customers who all seem to come from the same neighborhood (not mine).  I mostly listen.

The last, and perhaps least important, reason why I like to go there is the chance to see what Vogue, Women’s Health and Cosmopolitan are saying to young women everywhere.  Sex, clothes and makeup—the subjects never change.

Good to know. 


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