I went for a manicure on Sunday to my usual place since I’m flying out today for San Francisco. I had never seen this receptionist before, perhaps because she was new or perhaps because I’m not usually there on Sundays. She had a horrible metal thing hanging through her nostrils, what I considered unwashed, uncombed hair, and an outfit she could have played soccer in. Here is the verbatim conversation:

Her: Says nothing when I enter.

Me: Hi, I’d like a manicure.

H: It will be a wait.

M: How long.

H: Maybe ten minutes.

M: Okay, fin3.

H: Would you like to pick out a color while you’re waiting?

M: What are you talking about?

H: A color polish.

M: Have you seen many men walking around with red nails?

H: (Snarly) Yeah.

M: Men with substantial, serious jobs?

H: (Snarly) Yeah.

M: We live on two different planets. I’ll wait over here.

Are we really sure we want to encourage everyone to vote?

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