Dealt with clients in the morning.
Took a break to deal with nails in the afternoon.
If my nails are too long, I just can’t type.
Seem to catch my nails in the laptop.
Off I set, and when I got there.
I admit, (no sainthood to be found running in these veins) I sighed inwardly when I saw the line.
I bought a magazine, figuring I could donate it for the other people waiting, give them something to do.
I sat, read through the pages.
This celebrity and that getting hitched, ditched, or pitched.
A woman beside me leaned over and bemoaned the wait.
I concurred, but we both agreed it was the best place to get one’s nails done.
After I leafed through the magazine.
I gave it to the woman next to me.
The one who had coincidentally said the wait was long, but worthwhile.
She thanked me with surprise in her eyes.
I had but a moment to realize the surprise was due to someone giving for a change, instead of wanting to take.
Then I was beckoned forth, and so I settled into a comfy chair, sighing, this time with relief.
Until they handed me a cotton soaked with nail polish remover.
Man, I suck at removing nail polish.
I did the best I could, but by the time I was done.
I had cotton sticking to every fingernail and pink smudges down to my first knuckle.
The maroon nail polish didn’t wanna come off.
I forced it to do my bidding.
As the nail tech came and shook her head sadly (she always does, nor do I blame her for it).
The kind woman came back to try and return the magazine I’d bought.
Thanking her kindly, I told her to keep it.
As she walked away, surprised yet again.
I heard some voices behind me.
We psychic-mediums can’t read your mind at will.
But we generally know who you are without giving you a second glance.
Comes in handy sometimes.
I felt the rush of negativity, and thought, so much for relaxation.
The slightly sullen voice behind me was complaining about the wait.
Been nearly a hour, she pouted.
After a little more bitching, her voice died down to a low murmur.
I was glad, yet wary.
I didn’t want her seated next to me.
Call it a psychic thing, just don’t like being around ppl who are too entitled.
It grates on my nerves.
I imagine if cheddar were alive.
A cheese grater would give it the same feeling of dread I had about that particular chick sitting by me.
In any case, a nice lady sat beside me, relieving me greatly.
I lent her my cell phone when her battery went dead.
Commiserated with her on the fickle nature of cell phone batteries.
Hell, I even told the nail tech I felt bad.
She was rushed off her feet.
I asked if she’d eaten lunch yet.
No, busier day than expected; not enough help.
I truly felt bad, and gave her a extra large tip to try and make up for my intrusion.
I wandered back to the nail drying station to..what else?
Dry my newly dark blue polished nails (looks terrific).
I heard the same voice who had loudly protested the long wait.
Saw three brunette heads.
Younger, maybe early twenties.
Maybe late teens.
Hell, I can never tell age.
I listened blithely to their conversation (don’t we all, be it at the hair salon or nail salon?)
Heard about who was fucking whom.
How good it was.
And wondered, as I so often do.
When I heard the young lady who had apparently fucked quite a few young gentlemen.
Call one of her peers (not present of course).
I had strategically positioned my purse so I couldn’t actually see the two worst offenders.
I shook my head and wondered if she could see the hypocrisy in her own statement.
I wryly shook my head again.
Aren’t we trained from the womb to not see things objectively?
Least of all, ourselves.
To never view our behavior through others eyes.
With all that might entail.
I listened on, hearing about who was a slut, a bitch, a whore.
I noted one girl on the edge of things.
She never spoke up, as the more eager one did as the pouter spouted her vitriol.
She kept her eyes down, remaining silent, not commenting one way or another.
Even when directly spoken to.
I looked at the girl.
She wanted to be part of this threesome.
Part of this clique.
Yet she didn’t want what went with it.
She didn’t want to render judgment, when the person involved wasn’t there to defend herself.
I found this curiously irritating.
I continued to watch her.
The more vicious the vitriol, the more she studied her hands, whirled in her chair, twisted her hair.
The more uncomfortable she became.
Yet there she still sat, enduring.
I felt bad for this girl.
I felt angry with her.
She purposely never commented.
Yet silence gives consent.
Taking a stand when things go too far is a trait I admire.
Yet silent she stayed.
Consent she gave.
I wonder how this young girls life will go.
I wonder how badly her self esteem will suffer.
I wonder if she will ever take a stand when wrong is done artlessly to others within her hearing.
I wonder if she will ever take a stand for herself.
As I walked out, I stopped, making way for a car wanting to turn.
Smiling, the couple in the car waved me forward.
I knew they were smiling because I’d stopped.
Others had ignored the car and blindly surged forward.
Thinking only of themselves.
Where they wanted to go.
How they would get there.
Just as further out in the parking lot.
Careless drivers nearly backed into unwary pedestrians.
In their surge forward to get where they wanted to go.
I approached my car, still wondering about that lone girl, the mute one, to all appearances.
I wondered if perhaps she would stop for the car I did.
If she would stop if an pedestrian entered the path of her vehicle.
Stopping to unlock my car.
I thought she would.
I wondered how long it will take before she stops being silent.
How many days, weeks, months remained before she chooses to become as obnoxious as her “friends.”
To fit in.
To get where SHE wants to go.
To stop seeing others.
To stop responding to others.
Thinking only of herself.
Who am I kidding?
Silence is merely the first step in giving consent.
One step down.
So many more to go.
Perhaps another step in the path this girl has chosen awaits her sooner than I could or would acknowledge.
Tomorrow is, after all.