mani-pedi mayhem in nyc

I’ve wanted to come to New York for as long as I can remember. Having watched countless episodes of Friends and Sex and the City I feel like I know the place already but there’s just no substitute for being here in the flesh.
I’ve crossed the East River via yellow cab, visited the famous Serendipity cafe and meandered the streets of the Lower East Side. However, my highlight thus far is, undoubtedly, my $20 mani-pedi experience.
My close friend and tour guide, BB, insists I join her at…uuhhmmm…I think it is just called ‘Nails’…for a bargain manicure and pedicure. Harbouring a strong dislike towards people touching my feet, a pedicure has never been on my list of enjoyable experiences. Nevertheless, the disapproval I receive when suggesting I simply have a manicure leads me to agree to the full works and I am ushered to a massage chair by a somewhat militant beautician. As I sit back to enjoy my pamper session I start to feel a fierce thumping on my back. I swear the chair has grown arms and is targeting every stress induced knot from my shoulders down. As I shift to distribute the pain and fight with the controls, the beautician dips my toes into a boiling hot spa only to realise her error when my foot emerges ruby-red. I maintain my composure until she comes at my sole with a pumice stone, at which point I began to giggle through the torturous, ticklish pain and wrench my foot away from her. I’m subsequently shunted to a manicure table where my finger nails are attacked with a file and my cuticles hacked away at viciously. I only register the extent of the damage when I notice my friendly manicurist painting over my very own blood. Secretly wishing for the process to end soon I’m manoeuvred to a nail dryer which seems to take longer than expected and is switched onto ‘heat’ mode. No prizes for guessing what sort of pain this inflicts.
As we gather our belongings to leave the manager checks my nails and on conclusion that they are not satisfactorily dry, she begins to wrap my toes in cling film. Yes, just like you would do to leftovers.
We leave the salon in fits of laughter marvelling at the cling film sticking out the sides of my shoes and I am overwhelmed by a strong nausea induced by the massage chair releasing toxins, from stressed muscles, into my system. Unfortunately the wrapping efforts are futile too and the polish smudges irreparably.
All that mayhem but…you know what? I would pay it again. Because that sort of entertainment is simply priceless.