The Hokey Pokey
By Beth Tally

For the most part, I’m not particularly girly.  You’re more likely to find me on a golf course somewhere than shopping for shoes.  But, every now and then, I get out of character and indulge myself in the female ritual of the pedicure and manicure.  Regardless of the city or state, the nail salon always offers the same environment – massage chairs with foot tubs, manicure desks, and practitioners of all ages and genders who chatter to each other in what I’ve come to learn is Vietnamese. 

The language difference doesn’t normally cause any problem for me.  I can understand simple phrases like “choose color,” “pay now,” and “thank you.”  Anything else can be handled with a bunch of nodding and smiling.  One particular time, however, I found myself completely challenged.

I walked into the salon, signed in and was handed over to a gentleman probably in his thirties.  He was very pleasant.  The pedicure came first and he escorted me over to take a seat in one of the chairs.  He filled the basin with warm water and, once my feet were inserted, asked “Okay?” 

That was easy enough.  I replied “Yes, thank you.”

While he worked on my feet, my body writhed up and down like a wave from the roller balls in the massage chair, all the while I’m reading a magazine.  I’ve found this to be a great tactic for conversation avoidance during these situations.  It’s also easily executed during a pedicure because both hands are free.

Not so for a manicure.  He put the little paper flip-flops on my feet and escorted me to the manicure table.  We sat down opposite each other no more than two feet apart, face to face.  He asked me a question – “Rou o squa?”

I stared at him with a stupid smile on my face hoping it would buy me some time to figure out what he’d said.  Nothing came.  He gestured to indicate whether I wanted my nails rounded or square.  “Oh, yes, I see.  Rounded would be fine.” 

He began the manicure.  It went like this - he’d say something, I’d smile back blankly, he’d look at me like I was an idiot and then take my hand and put it where it needed to go – into a soap dish, into a heated glove, whatever.  About ten minutes into the deal, he looked at me squarely and said seriously “Wa Ha Pee.” 

“Exuse me?” 

“Wa Ha Pee.” 

This elicited a totally clueless expression from me. 

For a third time, he said “Wa Ha Pee” and added the gesture of stretching his right arm backwards out from his shoulder.

Trying desperately to pick up on what I was supposed to do, I mimicked him by reaching my left arm across the table.

With his arm still extended, he once more reiterated “Wa Ha Pee.”

I threw my left arm backwards then from the shoulder as well thinking THAT must be what he wanted.  It was like we were doing some Asian version of the Hokey-Pokey.

Finally, he got up from the table, walked to a sink behind him, turned on the water and ran his hands underneath.  “Wa Ha Pee.” 

AAAAAHH!!  “Wash Hands Please.” 

I sheepishly lowered my extended arm and came over to the sink, rinsed my hands and returned to the manicure desk for him to finish.  I couldn’t get out of the place fast enough when it was over.

Every time I get my nails done now, I think of this episode and chuckle.  I’m laughing all over again writing about it.  I’m sure my giggles are nothing compared to his, though.  Would love to hear his version of this story.