Philadelphia resident Danielle Sidley just wanted a simple pedicure for her cousin’s wedding. Unfortunately, she got much more than she bargained for.
“I figured I would remember which place was that place,” says Sidley, looking shaken. “Boy, was I wrong.”
Sidley was running her usual Saturday errands. After picking up her dry cleaning, she decided a quick polish change was in order to remedy her chipped enamel. Except this strip mall didn’t have a single nail salon—it had three.
She couldn’t remember which place was the one with the free mimosa and comped paraffin dips and the one that had massage chairs that punched you in the b-hole. Was it Vogue Nails, Chic Nails or Amore Nails Plus?
“I totally forgot that horrible day from years ago,” she says, gazing off into the distance. “How could I forget?”
The cheerful tinkle of wind chimes greeted her as she opened the door to Chic Nails. The walls were a soft pink, and there was an average display of nail lacquers by the front desk.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the receptionist, with a familiar smile.
As Sidley fumbled through the OPI seasonal collection, the overhead spa music seemed to turn sinister. Somewhere deep inside, stormclouds of dread began to gather. She desperately sought reassurance in the eyes of the other few customers, but their lifeless gazes refused to meet her own. Also, her hand was not holding booze.
Wait—had she been here before? A shadow of a repressed memory dangled just out of reach. She pushed the massage chair’s buttons until she felt it lurch to life. The moment it did, the memory unleashed itself: This place. This place is the nail place with the massage chairs that just punch you in the b-hole.
Sidley willed herself not to panic as she stabbed at the remote in vain with her trembling fingers, her b-hole cowering in the corner of her yoga pants. Her entire trunk jostled wildly as the baffling position of the despotic shiatsu massage robot jackhammered away at her hapless anus.
“Never again will I go to that place,” declares Sidley, leaning slightly to one side. “That’s the last time I get a pedicure from…. wait, what was it called? You know, that nail place.”
