The Pedicure
Doing pedicures all day long for a living must be a special kind of hell. – Scott Pettit
It wasn't just the long raggedy nails or the ticklish ones. The ladies with foot fungus curdled Mei's stomach. Each time, she would dart back to the utility sink and scrub her hands until they were almost raw.
It was her tenth year, her last year in the contract. The contract that had gotten her to the promised land of the United States. Six more weeks to go and she could escape this hell hole. Maybe she could finally dust off her engineering degree and find a real job. She's always wanted to build bridges. Something solid. Inwardly sighing, Mei picked up a file and attempted to make small talk with the suburban housewife under her hands.
The last week Mei pulled her arms into her pink smock. Avoiding the slimy hands of the owner for the ten thousandth time, she took her place at her station. Mei organized her paints and tools. Seven more days. One week until freedom. She could hardly breathe. Mei had managed to save a little, perhaps just enough to start over. As she lined up the scissors and files, Mei fantasized about leaving this miserable suburb. The bell rang. It was the first customer.
It was the second to last day when Mei's manager tore up her contract and laughed at her. She remained rooted to the floor in shock. Evidently, she should have given in to his demands for sexual favors. Shaking, she set up her station, mind racing. The day steadily ticked by until her last customer slid carefully into her chair. Mei didn't look up. She was numb. Only when the lady cleared her throat did Mei raise her head. The woman in front of her was not just ugly, she was spectacularly hideous. Mei looked down. Before her were perhaps the most beautiful pair of feet she had ever seen. Delicately formed and artfully cared for. Mei looked up. The lady chuckled darkly. "I know," she said. Tears sprang into Mei's eyes. The lady's sarcastic smirk softened. She looked, really looked at Mei and frowned. Mei looked away.
"I'm Cheryl," the woman said. "And you are?"
"Mei."
"Let's do a pale lavender today. It feels like a season of change."
Mei started and set to work. She decided to give Cheryl the best pedicure she was capable of doing. This woman seemed kind in a dark and dangerous world. No matter her looks, everyone deserved a bit of pampering. Mei put aside her crushing disappointment and despair and silently poured the last of her care into this client.
At the end, Cheryl was practically purring.
"Thank you, Mei. This has been the most amazing pedicure I've ever had."
Cheryl reached into her designer handbag and pulled out her wallet. Mei dropped her eyes. Tips were split by all of them, so they never went very far. Into the dish, Cheryl carefully placed a business card and a hundred-dollar bill.
"Mei," she looked into Cheryl's warm brown eyes, "I know this might seem outrageous, but I want to offer you a chance."
Mei drew back, waiting for the glancing blow.
Cheryl crooked an ironic smile. "Your life could be just fine, but if it's not. Find me. I can help."
Mei quickly swept the card and money into her pocket.
Late that night, after yet another groping, Mei escaped into the back alley. Including Cheryl's tip, she had $200 in her pocket. Fingering the pasteboard in her pocket, Mei made a decision.
In twenty minutes, she was ringing the bell on Cheryl's porch. The large woman opened the door and smiled broadly. "All right, then. Let's get started."