Fake nails

OK, so I finally got my fingers healed up enough to go get acrylics put on my nails, so I won't destroy my thumbs during job interview time. I always go to this place in town that I won't say the name of, unless you want the name after you hear my story. I've always had good luck at this particular place. Sadly, though, my experience this time was such that I will not be returning.

I went in on Saturday around noon and was pleased to discover that there was no one waiting. I put my name down, picked out my color, and sat down on the comfy couch to read my WW magazine. Then the owner of the place gets done with his customer and calls my name and vaguely points to a chair. I figured out which one to go to (it was his) and sat down. The first thing I see is a cotton ball with blue stuff in it, and with brown stuff on top of that, on top of the table area that he would be doing my nails on. Gross. And then he sits down and starts on my nails, without throwing away the cotton ball. I was OK with getting my nails done with him, though, because he doesn't talk. He's actually pretty rude, but hey, I don't like chit chatting, so I'll take it.

After he glued the tips on my nails, he cut them down and started filing them. When they do that, they sometimes have to pull on the skin because it got glued to the nail. This is not usually a problem. Apparently for him, though, he can't figure out how to do that without making a person bleed. He ended up cutting four of my fingers. That's when I learned what was on that cotton ball--the blue bactricide they use to stop bleeding and old blood. Eww! If I didn't have claw fingers at that point I would have left right then. But I didn't, and saw that my blood was getting on the emory board he was using. Well, I wasn't concerned, because it's my blood, I can't contaminate myself. But I made it a point to keep my eye on that board the rest of my time there. The rest of the nail process went by unremarkably (although, I don't like the color I picked out). While I was washing my hands, he threw away both cotton balls.

And then I sat under the dryer for a while, and I watched that emory board at his station. During my time there, he didn't use it on the lady who came in after me. However, he also didn't throw the thing away. Which probably means that he used that bloody emory board on someone else. I wonder how many people bled on it before I did? I realize the chances of picking up some disease from it are not high, but still. So I am on the search for a new place to get my nails done. I'm thinking I might just start paying a bit more and going to a full service salon, instead of the nail places around town.