The Pedicure from Hell

by Alli

I’ve been getting my toes done on a regular basis for years and I’ve always enjoyed the few minutes of pampering and my great taste in nail polish.

Until last week when I received the pedicure from hell.

Pedicure from Hell

Pedicure from Hell

A few days ago, I had just finished exercising when I noticed that sneakers/exercise takes it’s toll on my pedi!  As I headed for the shower I “told” my daughter that she and I was going for a little foot love and I would be ready ASAP.

Mistake Number 1:  We were walk-ins and I should have ran/not walked out of that place when I saw Grumpy Cat creeping toward me with a scowl on her face!  My daughter got the nice guy that had just moved here from California.  His English was better than mine.

Grumpy Cat had the meanest expression on her face!  I don’t know if it was hate at first sight when she glanced my way.  I don’t know if she was mad because she was very pregnant.  Don’t know if she had been throwing up and didn’t feel well.  Don’t know if she had just lost her best friend.  I just don’t know.

Grumpy Cat - The Pedi From Hell

She never spoke to me.  She never acknowledged that I was there.  She grunted (I think), grabbed my foot and preceded to torture me!

First of all, she trimmed my toe nails to the quick!  I’ve never had that amount of flesh poking out from around my  toenails since I was a new born!

Then she went cuticle happy and trimmed like there was no tomorrow!  I said, very nicely, as I pulled my foot back, “That hurts.”  She didn’t care.  She was grumpy cat!

When she grabbed the cheese grater and tore into my not-THAT-rough heels as if I was arch enemy #1,  I literally screamed and yanked my foot away.  She yanked back and for a long moment there, we played tug-of-war with my foot!

Blood was streaming down my heel and I had tears in my eyes as I said in a raised-to-a-level-that-would-break-glass voice, “You are hurting me!”

By then my daughter was fed up and she bellowed at Grumpy Cat, “You are too rough.  You are hurting her!”

Did she care?  Did she stop the torture?  No she did not!

By then, other clients were sneaking a peek in our direction.  And if you know me at all, you know that I don’t like to cause a scene.  But this pedicure from hell had taken a turn for the worse.  I don’t do blood!

Obviously, Grumpy Cat didn’t give a hoot that she was torturing me.  I mean, really, are pedicures supposed to hurt like, well, you know?  I think not.  They never have before.

I was planning on getting a manicure after the “relaxing, soothing pedicure,” but I was so upset I canceled the mani.  I mean, would Grumpy Cat cut off the ends of a couple of my fingers just for the fun of it or maybe water board me?

And just when I thought I couldn’t take any more punishment, she grabs a bottle of something akin to pure alcohol and splashed it on the hole in my heel.  I went airborne!  I felt like I was in the movie, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon as I hung suspended in mid air!

She finally slapped a band-aid on my heel, gave me one more grumpy cat look and she was done.  She quickly painted my toenails and I limped over to the dryer.

By this point in time, I was livid.  I was in pain.  I was hungry and I was so over it all.

It was the first time in my life that I didn’t leave a tip.  Grumpy Cat did not get extra for causing me pain.  And she must have missed the memo that I’m not into S & M!

The expression on her face never changed.  She never apologized and she will never get the chance to torture me again.  Period.

My daughter kept saying, “Talk to the manager.”  Well, the manager was with a client and I didn’t want to bring the entire salon into my situation.  Looking back, maybe I should have.

Once I escaped from the torture chamber a/k/a nail salon, it was lunch time, so I fell headlong into a bowl of chips and salsa at our favorite Mexican restaurant and I washed it all down with . . . . water with lime!  Gotcha!

When I got home I was still in pain.  Later, when I related the sordid details to my husband, he said, “If you don’t call the manager, I will.”  At that point I had to tell him (laughingly, I think)  that he was not my dad and was not going to call the manager.  I mean, I would look like a wuss and a tattletale!

So I manned (womaned?) up,  picked up the phone and promptly called the salon.  The manager said she was sorry, but didn’t appear overly concerned.  Oh, well, they’ve lost a customer and a normally great tipper!  But they don’t care!

What would you have done?