Elaine, Meet Debbie

Remember the Seinfeld episode when Elaine went to get her nails done and was certain the nail shop employees were talking about her in their native, Vietnamese language?  She then discovered that George’s dad was fluent in Vietnamese and brought him to interpret.  Sure enough they were talking about her, and laughing and mocking, and gossiping about here.

Although I laughed at the show back in the day, I can’t say I would welcome the same experience myself.

A few weeks ago my daughters and I went for pedicures.  The shop was clean and nice.  I had not visited this particular nail salon before, but I was impressed.  The nail technicians made us feel welcome, and in for a pampering experience.  I sat back in the relaxing chair, while my feet soaked in the hot bubbly water, and began reading my Kindle.

That’s when the salon phone rang.

You would think they had received a threatening call of some sort.  The staff was scurrying around, talking loudly, back and forth, with a hint of panic.  I set my book down.  This was far more interesting to watch.  And they were speaking English—even better.  The lady who answered the phone told the rest of the staff, “It’s Debbie.”

Technician One: “Uh oh.”  And rolled her eyes.

Hmm.  Who is Debbie? I wondered.

Technician One:  “Which Debbie?”

Technician Two:  “Yeah, which Debbie?”

Down the row of chairs Technician Three piped in:  “Is it Loud Debbie?”

Loud Debbie?

“Or 10:30 Debbie?” piped up Technician Four across the store working on a manicure.

Oh good grief people, which Debbie?

The salon manager, covered the phone, and said, “it’s ‘Loud Debbie’ and she left her credit card here.”

All the technicians in unison: “Ahh. Oh!”  They nodded and smiled at one another.  My technician smiled at me as if this was some sort of celebration I was supposed to be in on.  A sigh of relief filled the entire salon.  I even felt relieved.  “Loud Debbie” would be reunited with her credit card.  Yay!!!

But who is “10:30 Debbie”?

Just as I was musing about who The Debbie’s were, a pizza delivery boy rang the bell at the counter.  He had four boxes of delicious smelling pizza.  The store owner, well, at least that’s who she was in my head, ran to the counter.  She looked at the receipt.

All the technicians turned toward their fearless leader.  Pedicures and manicures ceased for the moment.  Waving the receipt in his face, she said, “This is wrong.  All wrong.  We get discount.  This not discounted.”

Oh for heaven’s sake.  Why didn’t they get the discount?  I was fired up now.

The young delivery boy punched in a few numbers on his cell phone, apparently no one answered.  He asked to use the salon phone, but again no answer on the other end.  He hastily excused himself and said he would try calling the pizza store from his car.  He left the pizzas on the counter.  I wondered if he would return.  But four boxes of pizza is a good chunk of change.

The staff erupted in conversation with one another once he walked out the door.  This time not in English.  Except I heard the word “pizza” about a dozen times.

About 10 minutes later Pizza Delivery Boy returned.  “I’m sorry for the confusion.  My manager gave you the discount, and it won’t happen again.”

Another sigh of relief flooded the salon.  And the pizzas quickly disappeared to the back room.  Bummer. Guess it wasn’t Customer Appreciation Day after all.

A thought crossed my mind while my nicely painted toes were drying.  Maybe “10:30 Debbie” is the manager of the pizza store?” Hmm.

If only Elaine could meet The Debbies.  I think they would have a lot in common.