Final Feliz

Note:The following is a true story told to me by a close friend that I am stealing and slightly embellishing. The embellishment is kept to a minimum for the sake of accuracy but is necessary as I was NOT witness to the actual set of events described herein.

My friend had been working at a Chicago hospital and each day would observe the sign on the beauty parlor across the street that read: “Pedicures $10”. In Chicago that’s as good a deal as any. After one particularly shitty day at work she decided to give the place a try. On entering the small, poorly lit building she was greeted by a thin, Asian woman who brought her into a larger atrium where 5 other equally thin Asian woman awaited. Each woman was in their late 20’s or early 30’s, wearing very short skirts and mesh, see-through tops. This should’ve been a warning sign, but as my friend is also of Asian heritage I suppose there was some level of intra-demographic pity or at least cognitive dissonance.

She requested the pedicure and was taken to a poorly padded chair where the procedure commenced. Shortly after it began, my friend began to doubt if this woman had ever given a pedicure in her life. No tact, no technique, no nothing. Then a young man walked in and he was approached by one of the awaiting scantily clad women. “I’ll have the massage.” He declared without even being asked. He was escorted to the back of the establishment quickly. Then another young man came in requesting the same massage. And another followed him. All the meanwhile, my friend is getting the shittiest pedicure you can imagine. The first man returns to the front room and gives one of the Asian masseuses a wad of crumpled green bills from his pocket.

It was at this point that my friend stood up, assembled her personal belongings and promptly exited the Whorehouse, I mean beauty parlor. Talk about getting a facial. I better stop now before this gets worse.