Sometimes we have to pretend we’re not living through a raging pandemic and do something “normal” — like going to a nail salon. It’s been months since my tootsies were catered to and recently, I decided to treat myself. In some ways it was the same as before, with my usual embarrassing neuroses, but in others, it was very different.
We both wear masks. I’m told to pick my color and I choose my usual bright, hot pink. By now, everyone – I like polish on my toes, but not my fingernails, since it chips so quickly. “Not even clear?” the women always asked when I got manicures, and I always answered, “No, thank you.” I ask how’s business, and he gives the same weary shrug I’ve seen with all the local merchants. “It’s tough,” he says in a thick Asian accent. I know Mark has a family and drives a large white van from Queens, New York to Connecticut each day, a 90-minute commute if traffic is good. Life was already hard and now it’s harder.
I pay at the register and always tip well, but today give a few extra dollars. It’s not much, but the least I can do. Mark gives a surprised thank you and we say goodbye.