By Sheryl Rosen


Episode 16 – Ripped off Nails

I went to Wolf's while my kids were away. He decided to treat us both to manicures (and he a pedicure) at his local place. Normally in my salon, my fill-ins cost thirty five dollars plus tax and tip. Common sense would dictate that the services would be less costly than in Manhattan since the rent is far lower. Sounds like a good idea.

We walk in and I ask if they do permanent French acrylics.  Naturally, three of the gals reply with a yes (did I actually really think they would say no?). So I sit down noticing the pink powder on the shelf behind the girl's chair; a good indication.

First thing she does is to take one hand and place it into a bowl of remover.  Ok, time for a fresh set. That maneuver jacked up the price to fifty dollars, if I was at home.  Again, I figure it's got to be less costly here, so what's the real harm?  Besides, objecting is no longer an option now that my old manicure has been ruined.

Then, OUCH! Too bad it's too late; the damage being done to my other hand (by another girl) is actually painful as she begins to rip off old acrylic from my nails.  In case you don't get this fine point - my own nail below the acrylic also is in part being torn off.   

Nothing I can do now, so I watch as the first girl removes my remover-soaked nails and files off the remaining loose fibers of what was once my own nail. If that's not bad enough, next she cuts my nails shorter than I would have preferred.  The only consolation is that at least they will grow back with healthy new growth. Perhaps saving materials, like extra powder and polish, was on her agenda. It's hard to say.

It's a new salon, to me at least, and not a city salon but rather a country salon, so what should I have expected?  They don't know my style or the other more advanced methods used in the City which is now into Calgel; forty dollars every three weeks.  Unfortunately I did not know this salons ways, which is why I had asked when I walked in.  Perhaps I was unclear.  You know when the asains in the salon pretend their English is not up to par so they get certain things wrong, mostly the price.

Then she pulls out linen - No Way! I stop her, enough of the Tom Foolery.  After about 10 minutes of banter, I find out this salon does not have acrylic resin (how then they say they do permanent French acrylics is still a mystery) so I without alternative options I agree to a powder manicure with the pink powder.  After all of this I can not leave my nails without protection now that they have been thinned, softened and very fragile.   

Correct me if I am wrong, but in order to have a powder manicure it has to have an agent to stick to, usually a gel (if not acrylic resin).

Two coats of powder, three coats of gel and after a "special" shiny top coat (I can not get her to just buff the nails with cream for a long lasting shine like my city salon does) she hands me a bill for eighty dollars explaining that a ten dollar discount was applied.

Now I have to decide. I've already caused some degree of onlookers, but not a scene. However, this bill is so over the top I am ready to explode. I hold it in while trying to fake a smile. I give one of those, and the charge slip to Wolf.

Wolf either has decided to ignore my obviously fake smile or doesn’t have a clue as to what is going on as he makes his way to the counter so he can pay the bill.  Last chance; I have to decide whether to be a gracious recipient or create a stink.  Bet you know what happened next.

I ask the Samurai warrior at the front desk to show me on his paper menu or blackboard list what services Wolf was being charged for.  The Samurai actually pointed to the last item called 'Tiffany Tips' (which you get I did not have) and skips over the other two listings for either a powder or gel manicure.  Either of those manicures cost forty dollars about ten dollars more than what is charged in Manhattan.   

I show my pick up my hands turning the palms to face me and the nails to face him and tell the Samurai that these are my own tips, “I do not have extensions, no Tiffany Tips” (nor did I have linen if you recall).  Get this, in a raised and firmer voice with arms folded at his chest and feet spread apart he then loudly states (at this point everyone in the Salon is now staring at me, as if I am the crazy one) that when the girl painted the white line on my nail for the French part of the manicure that was the tip.

Let's see if I can do math, forty dollars plus what, another ten dollars for the white strip comes to fifty dollars?  Do you know any salon that charges a forty dollar surcharge for the white line application (remember, Wolf was given a ten dollar discount).

And that's not all. Wolf was charged fifty five dollars for his manicure/pedicure.  Did I mention it's Wednesday (the discount day)?  In Manhattan, the cost for a manicure/pedicure is twenty five dollars Monday through Wednesday and thirty dollars on the other days.

I tell the Samurai in a tone as near a match to his as I can muster, "I do not care that you have raised your voice. You are not intimidating me. I can raise my voice too.  It does not make your prices or policies fair or reasonable.  This is a complete rip off and I am a very unsatisfied customer who will not be back."

I walk out and stop to look back.  Wolf is slowly coming out of the place, he's placing his credit card back into his wallet. Dumb schmuck, I think and worse off he has not supported my position. But who really is the dumb schmuck?  I am forced to realize that Wolf may in fact go back to this salon since it's around the corner from him.  And, he really does not care if they rip him off since a few dollars more or less does not phase him, nor is he likely to be bothered to come to my salon just to save a little.   I get an sick feeling in my stomach. I've outsmarted myself, yet once again.