>An interesting thing happened the other day when I went for a mani-pedi. I decided to go back to a spot that’s a little closer to me than the one I normally go to. I used to go to this one on occasion, but got into the habit of going to the other one. Anyway, I hadn’t been to this one in at least a year, so there were some new technicians I didn’t recognize.
So I’m sitting in the massage chair, deeply immersed in the magazine I’m reading as the woman works on my feet. Admittedly, this is one of the very few moments in life when I become a bit classist, meaning I don’t really want to break the fourth wall between me and the person servicing me. Whenever I go in for spa treatments, massages, whatever, I don’t like to be bothered by the staff. I just want to disappear into my moment of relaxation and be done. But I had a technician I’d never seen before who insisted on talking, and this is how she began our conversation:
(startled from my magazine) “Excuse me?”
“You different. You not like other black people.”
(closing my magazine, wondering wtf?) “Really.”
“Umph.” (…disappearing back into my magazine…)
I’m sure she might have meant well, but telling someone they’re not like the rest of their race isn’t exactly the way to do it. It didn’t make me angry, just sort of sad for the cultural divides that will always keep us apart somehow.
Oh well. At least she was true to her* people, and hooked my feet up something lovely. Check ’em out.