My appointment for a mani/pedi was scheduled for 9:30 am this morning. I arrived outside the salon a few minutes early. There was a red neon sign flashing OPEN on the front window. Through the window I could see there were already others inside. Some were at their stations performing manicures and pedicures with clients both male and female.  When I opened the entrance door I stood by the cash, inert, expecting some recognition from someone. All I got was a brief glance from a young muscular man in a tight T-shirt half-way into the salon where he was giving a pedicure to a woman. He said perfunctorily, “Do you have an appointment?”  His utter lack of retail aplomb instantly froze me. I replied with equal disinterest, “Yes”. This animated exchange prompted him to remove himself reluctantly from his subordinate station at the feet of the woman and shuffle towards the computer screen on the counter at the entrance where I awaited. “Your name?”, he asked. To which I replied, “Chapman”. I wasn’t giving him more than necessary. “What time?”, he continued. I told him. “With Snow?”, he asked. “Yes”, I replied, “That sounds familiar.” He glanced out the front window.  “She’s on her way”, he reported then evaporated. I sat down on a chair by the window. The chair had been stretched out of utility from repeated use. I thought of switching to another but abandoned the idea.

Over the next 3 – 4 minutes several workers arrived. At last my own technician (how’s that for a sobriquet) arrived.  She was the best dressed of the lot though still maintaining that excess of accessories and miscalculation of apparel peculiar to staff at salons. She wore enough gold to pay for a university tuition, a Nomadic bent I recognized and comprehended. Her pants were very tight about her limbs and I believe she wore high-heeled shoes (which I have always considered a preposterous alignment with pants except in comedic film). It had been three weeks since I had last seen her. She remembered me and smiled pleasantly. As she strode to the back of the salon to store her bag I told her, “No rush”. Which most certainly was no under-statement and probably superfluous of me to have mentioned for other reasons as well.

With one exception the remainder of the morning’s enterprise was entirely professional. Indeed the reason I had insisted upon having Snow as my technician again today is that last time she very skilfully attacked an apparent ingrown toenail; and from what I could tell from my perspective she had done a bang-up job, meriting in my opinion a surgical distinction. Today she re-visited the issue with further exploration and assiduity. It seems to have been a final success.  I told her I appreciated her studious application. And naturally I later crystallized the gesture with a commensurate gratuity (which I had done last time as well). She had earned it and more.

On this occasion, unlike last time, Snow wore a designer mask throughout her work. As we mumbled about Christmas decorations and the like, Snow clarified that apart from a few coloured lights, she would not be celebrating Christmas. When I attempted to soften the deprivation by advancing that Christmas was really for children, she replied, “And family; and I have no children or family here.” It was then I recalled that she had told me on my last visit that she has a young daughter or son with her parents in Vietnam.  But before I could bemoan that fate she energetically observed that in Vietnam the primary if not indeed the exclusive celebration is the New Year. She as quickly added that she had absolutely no ambition to celebrate the New Year in Vietnam because the streets are supremely congested with party-goers and fraught with pickpockets and beggars necessitating her to cling her bag to her chest as she careered her way through the pressing crowds.

Suddenly there was an explosion of happy voices in the salon as an attractive young woman wearing tight pants and glittering sandals entered. Amidst gales of laughter and applause she went about the salon touching hands and embracing staff. When I later retired from the pedicure basin to the manicure desk the exotic woman was seated next to me glowing in her arrival. I jokingly asked if she were a movie star to which she buoyantly replied, “Jay Lo!” This seemed to please everyone in hearing range, prompting a musical refrain of Spanish exchanges.

After I left the salon and returned to the townhouse I rode my tricycle for a while then relaxed by the pool in the sun, followed by several dips in the pool. The matter of interest which later arose involved a gentleman who owns and operates an air conditioning business.  As of mid-afternoon the A/C still didn’t operate even though we had been told that it should be working. By clamouring with several of the workers engaged on the roof to repair the roofing and related electrical facilities connected to the various A/C units, we encountered a young worker who advised he would “check his truck” to see if he had an extra thermostat which appeared to be the source of our problem in light of the fact that the electrical connections on the roof had been rectified. For the longest while the young chap made no appearance.  We in turn approached the roof workers again.  Suddenly a gentleman of obvious talent appeared inside our unit.  He examined the existing thermostat and confirmed its demise. Within minutes a young worker appeared with a new thermostat. The “talented” gentleman (who turned out to be the proprietor of the A/C company) redirected the young chap to another less fancy model of thermostat which the chap collected from his truck trove. Mr. Richard Reasoner is the owner of Richie Rich Air Conditioning. He explained with no hesitation that he enjoys deep sea fishing; that he has a lake house; that he works hard; that he has six children (three from his first wife, three from his second wife’s previous family) and numerous grandchildren all of whom he loves; that all the children are doing well except his first born son who is in Georgia, not focusing; he had his first son when he was fifteen (his girl-friend at the time was about 21 years old and used to pick him up after school to the delight of his friends); he grew up in a tough neighbourhood; he would install the new thermostat and come back sometime later with a bill which I assured him we would convey to the estate agent for payment (though he was patently not anxious to secure his compensation). He advised there is native Indian blood in his family including an 80-acre parcel of land deeded to his ancestors centuries ago and which he expects to inherit. I do believe his current residence is in Broward County nearby either Miami or Fort Lauderdale. He was one of those candid, bright, successful entrepreneurs who give capitalism a good name. Oh, I forgot to mention, he instructed the young mechanic to wash his hands before continuing to repair the thermostat.  He emphasized to the young worker that cleanliness is important; and, that he should check each of the critical connections within the thermostat before clapping on the cover in order to avoid fruitless time afterwards.