For years I thought
manicures and pedicures were the frivolous indulgences of the leisure class, of
which I am not a member. However, when I
decided my toes needed work, it quickly became a necessity. Then I moved on to fingernails, and it is now
a full-blown dire necessity.
For a long time, I had my manicures and pedicures in small
salons with a minimum of traffic and noise.
That changed when I found my schedule just not jibing with the available
time slots and lo and behold I found out that there were establishments that
are open almost every time that I am.
My previous experience in an Asian-staffed nail salon was
one I didn’t want repeated. It seemed to
take forever, and the technician obviously had OCD. I tried one more time and found it stressful
because the Vietnamese tech spoke constantly and in broken English. But no racist I, I tried again.
I have so far been comfortable with one that is open Saturday
and Sundays and all I have to do is show up and they will accommodate me. They are mostly all Vietnamese as well. (I tried another one, but it was too crowded
and noisy, and the workers kept their children in the back where they rarely
stayed.) I do have the habit of thinking
in psychosocial terms (an occupational hazard) when I people watch; when you’re
getting your nails done, there’s not much else to do. So, I offer up my thoughts and
observations.
The history of our country is full of immigrant groups who
found a specialty to employ within the fabric of our society. In the days of Ellis Island, Jewish
immigrants opened delis, groceries and wholesale clothing stores. Many Irish ran bars and became policeman;
Germans and Italians offered their food specialties to our diverse
culture. Chinese men originally brought
over to work on railroad building, later also ran restaurants and iconic
laundries.
Since those early days, we have refugees from the Hungarian
and Cuban Revolutions and numerous others from countries that offered little
opportunity for income and improved living conditions. These countries include, among others,
Mexico, Russia, South and Central America, India and Pakistan. There was an influx of Vietnamese Refugees
after the prolonged state of war, but the current immigrants are not refugees,
but still looking for a better life.
My observations lead me to believe that they are in our
country, but not of it. The salon is
noisy with conversation among the workers, but most is not in English. There are married couples and other
family. From questioning, most have not
been here very long. One thing they have
in common with past immigrants is the work ethic. They work long hours; to me, close contact
with the body parts of strangers is not the greatest job in the world. Especially feet. I hate feet, and I’m
grateful that somebody is willing to work on my toes. I have respect and admiration for the
workers, even though I still think they all have OCD. The clientele is rarely of the “leisure class”
and encompass all ages, races, sizes and social status. One young Vietnamese technician has an infant
daughter who she fiercely misses every time she is at work and loves to talk
about her.
No matter what your viewpoint on immigration, Americans have
always depended on immigrants to run our restaurants, do our gardening, pick
our fruit and vegetables, clean our clothes, maintain our technologies and yes,
do our nails. The mistake of many
Americans is to assume that they exist solely to meet our needs. I’m guilty of that too—I don’t want to do my
own nails, want to eat my Thai, Chinese, and Mexican food without cooking it
myself. However, unlike some in our
country, I want us to continue to open our gates and greet them with love. I want them to be allowed to pursue a path to
become citizens if they so choose. I
want all Americans to understand we are all human beings, equal in the eyes of
whoever you believe your creator to be, and all worthy of the same love and
respect.
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