Thursday, April 27, 2017

How a Pedicure Confirmed My Bitchy Resting Face


I love getting pedicures. Nothing makes a girl feel more girly than smooth heels and painted toes.

"Oh yeah, pink's ma' color." (source)

Last year after we moved, I felt like a needed a mini spa-break, so I tried a new nail salon right by our house. I had a lovely nail technician we'll call Sebastian.

Sebastian was quite the salesman. It started immediately when I sat down in the comfy massage chair and he handed me a card listing about 90 different kinds of pedicures. They ranged from the budget- friendly "we file your daggers and clean your toe gunk" to the more indulgent "we exfoliate, decrystallize, and massage until your legs are butta' ".

I really just wanted a simple pedicure, but Sebastian said I could really use a good foot sloughing, so I picked a treatment somewhere in the middle. Come to find out, he was quite direct about what his customers needed.

Sebastian is the king of the upsell

I settled in as my foot pampering began. We started to chit chat a little and he began asking questions about my skincare regime.

Uh-oh. I could feel another sales pitch coming on.

Sebastian: When was last time you had facial? (Don't lie - from the size of your pores, it's been a while.)
Me: I don't remember. (Hmmm, do I NEED a facial?)
Sebastian: We have special on facial and pedicure. You get discount. (Note to self: add newly invented special to the treatment list card.)
Me: I don't...

At the first sound of a protest from me, Sebastian jumped up from his little stool, came over and stood by me, and began peering closely at my face. I was a little uncomfortable at first, but then again...the man was cleaning my toe jam, so I suppose we were looking at personal space boundaries in the rear-view mirror.

Sebastian: Awww, yeahhhh, your pores clogged. We use very good product. It lift all dirt and toxin out. Your skin glow! You won't believe difference! (Have you looked in mirror lately?)
Me: Maybe next time when I have more time...(Jeez, is my skin that bad???)
Sebastian: No extra time! I apply mask now and it sit while I do toes. Your skin glow! You will love! (Think I snagged her...)
Me: Okay, why not? (Would you just shut-up about my pores, please?)
Sebastian: (Suckaaaaa!)

So Sebastian washed my face and brushed on some product that he told me the name of but I can't remember. Then he put a paper mask over my face. I had my eyes closed while he was doing this and didn't realize that the mask had eye-holes cut out of it.

He returned to his stool and resumed working on my toes, while I sat there thinking I had a mask over my eyes. Finally, he said, "You can open your eyes if you want."

I reached up and touched my eyes. Oh. Eyeholes. I felt like a doofus.

I feel ya, dog.

While my skin was de-gunking and my toes were de-hobbitfying, Sebastian and I chatted. His father owned the salon, his siblings worked there too, he was married with three kids, he works a lot. Sebastian was a pretty nice guy and I was beginning to forgive him for his hard-sell tactics.

Soon, he finished my toes and peeled the mask off my face.

He began exclaiming and oohing and ahhhing as he slowly pulled the paper off, "Ohhhhh, look at all that! You had lot of dirt, loooottt of dirt!" (He dragged out the word "lot," excessively). "Ohhhhh, you won't believe...wow...looooottt of dirt!"

Lot of dirt. Got it. Thanks.

He showed me the paper mask.

It looked like something an archaeologist unearthed. The frown shaped mouth is evidence of my "bitchy resting face". You know - the natural state of one's face when one isn't smiling.

It's a thing. And it's now confirmed I have one.

It's Homobitchirestingfacapian. (Pronounced homo-bitchy-resting-face-apian)

Apparently, the condition of my pores was quite intriguing to Sebastian. He went on and on about how much dirt was stuck to the mask.

Did I mention the salon was crowded? Every seat was full. I was thrilled that a roomful of strangers were now intimately acquainted with my supposed lackluster skin cleansing habits. "Hey Sebastian, since my pore gunk is so fascinating, let's pass the mask around so everyone can see, like they do with the gifts at a baby shower," is what I thought to myself.

After he finished marvelling at the evidence of my filthy face, he handed the mask to me, "Here, you take home."

Yeah. No.

What was I supposed to do with it? Like I had just the spot for it up on my mantle, right next to my gallbladder in a jar.

"Thanks, I'm good," I said.

"Okay, I take picture for you," he said. And that's how the above picture came to be. Because I honestly would never have thought to take a picture of my pore gunk. So you have Sebastian to thank for that.

Before I left the salon, I looked in the mirror, certain that I must look hideous with my large pores and now, no makeup.

But, you know what? My skin looked fabulous! I mean, it really was glowing.

Son-of-a-gun. Sebastian knew what he was talking about, after all.

Despite his overexuberance about my pore dirt, and his relentless upselling techniques, I still go back to Sebastian. He gives a heck of a pedicure and I found his directness a little endearing.

Or maybe I'm just a masochist.

Filthily,
Lori

This post was brought to you by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop prompt to write a post inspired by the word "break". As in "spa-break". It's a stretch, I know.

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