Now That Was Awkward…

Although you may not know it, there’s a small Asian-run hair salon down Boylston hidden in a shopping center next to CVS… This is where our story begins.

It all started when my friend, Viviana, and I’s toe nails had grown to an epic claw-sized proportion. My blue nail polish slowly evolved into a disgusting, scraped-up hot mess that needed to be taken care of, ASAP.
Viviana’s suitemate suggested some random nail salon that’s “cheap I promise,” so we finally made our way over one day after class only to see that the “nail salon” was in fact a run-down hair place that just screamed TETANUS.

For some reason, we didn’t leave. In retrospect, the five-year old Us Weekly magazines should’ve been a huge warning sign.

I don’t want to bore you with all the details about their strange foot massages that involved more pounding than rubbing or how they put so much massage oil on my legs that it felt like I had just come out of an orgy that involved lots and lots of lube, but let me just say that there was Palmolive dish soap involved to scrub our feet.

Finally it seemed as if these crazy women, who kept alternating positions when they couldn’t perform a specific duty, were almost done molesting our toes. My toes had been painted an Emerson purple while my friend’s were a prostitute red that’s already chipping, FYI.

Viviana and I were under the impression that, shit, if they didn’t even have a real pedicure chair for us to sit in or actual soap, our pedicures would be relatively cheap, but they turned out to be $30 – a pop.

We left completely broke and lubed up from our “massages” but we somehow managed to slide our way to Piano Row, grateful to have all ten of our toes still attached to our feet.