| Peels We Wear We had appointments at the posh Givenchy spa in Palm Springs. When we arrived, Kim immediately disliked the aura of uppity-ness. Even though Kim is French and could certainly pull off an aristocratic air in accented English, she said she felt uneasy in places where patrons were so wealthy that affluence oozed from their pores. I pulled into the drive way. When the valet person approached, I asked Kim if we should ask for self-parking spaces. I had no cash! Kim told me not to worry about it. She knew about these things. We entered the lobby, no clue where we were supposed to go. The place really was pleasant, lit by warm yellow lights. Expensive art decorated the walls. We looked for signs flanked by arrows telling us "Spa, this way!" but the place may be too posh for signs. The rich clients who frequented definitely would know where they were going. "Will they arrest me? I look too scummy." I said. I wore desert camouflage pants, bright yellow Hawaiian flip-flops (with dirty footprints since I had dirty feet), blue top. I looked ready to mow the lawn or hose the garden. No one arrested me. Kim and I took the circuitous way around the compound and ended up where we started. The spa was to our left, but no one told us to simply turn left. When we entered the spa, we were met by white walls and white sofas and glass cabinets showcasing expensive Givenchy products. We were greeted by two expensive-looking women. They were dressed in blue spa suits, both were perfectly coiffed. They gave us cards to fill out. Kim whispered, "Put the 'Dr.' in front of your name!" I looked at my card dismally. "I don't have enough space, I already put my name on there." The aesthetician who did my face was very nice. Cass had asked me to tell the aesthetician to clear my pores and get rid of my blackheads. I related Cass's message to my aesthetician. She thought it was a very funny request, but since this was not an extraction facial appointment, she couldn't fulfill Cass's request. "My husband is always trying to 'Biore' me." I told her. She thought that was funny. After the facial was over, I showered and met up with Kim. Then we walked out of the spa and this time knew to turn right instead of walking another round in the compound. The valet attendant drove up with my car and Kim gave him a five dollar tip. Then we exited the compound to head back to the hotel. "I took out my card because I have 'Dr.' in front of my name." Kim said. She added, " Those girls were bugging me so much, give me a break, we're smarter than they are!" "Ooh, this reminds me – let me tell you my FedEx story." I said. Two years ago, Cass and I drove to a FedEx station for pickup. Not surprisingly, the station was plagued with long lines. The agents were rather busy, a few looked as if they were breaching the patience-politeness continuum. My turn came and I handed my pickup slip. The agent swiped the slip without giving me a second look and began punching buttons on a touch-pad. I stepped aside dutifully to let other customers hand do their business. Many minutes later, I still hadn't gotten my package. A couple of customers who had gone after me already left with their packages. I leaned toward the counter and asked the agent how long I would have to wait to get my package. "You have to give me your claim slip." The agent said impatiently. "I already gave you the slip." I said. "No, you didn't." She said. "Yes, I did." I said. Cass came up to the front of the line to observe. "I don't have the slip in front of me." She said. "But I gave it to you and you placed it on your clip board." I said. "Well, I don't see it." She said, and cursively looked around her work area. "I think you had placed another piece of paper over it." I said. The agent fumbled with claim slips and FedEx papers on the clip board. I was relieved when I saw my claim slip still attached to the clip board. The agent did not look particularly happy that my claim slip was indeed there. "Wait here." She snapped and headed into the warehouse area. I retreated to the end of the line with Cass. I felt a bit embarrassed for almost causing a scene. A telephone was attached to the wall and a sign was posted next to it, saying "courtesy phone for our customers – please limit use to five minutes." I checked voicemail so that I would be busy for a few minutes. Cass and I idled. We hugged. We looked at other people hurrying into the station. We looked at them hurrying out. We examined different sizes of envelopes and packing tubes. We wondered what we would eat for dinner. "Dr. Chin? Dr. Chin?" The agent emerged from the warehouse. She called from behind the counter. Her call prompted everyone to look around and at each other. Dr. Chin walked up to the counter, adjusting the drawstrings of her summer shorts. Those shorts were made of seersucker material. Her black flip-flops slapped against the bottom of her feet as she waded past spectators. She looked nothing like a "Dr. Chin," in fact, she looked like she had just graduated from high school and should be peeling turnips at a nearby restaurant to earn extra cash for summer. "Here you go, Dr. Chin, sign on this line, please." The agent's voice had been brushed with butter; she sounded soft and nice. "Ok, thanks." I said. I could feel Cass's sh*t-eating grin from the back of the room. I waded back to him and we walked out of the station. |