Nail salons and spas are everywhere in New York. I don't know how the hell they stay open because they are never really busy and there is always a clan of technicians sitting outside, doing nothing, and chatting in one of various languages from the Asian continent (BTdubs, that's not a racist assumption, that's an observational fact). I, of course, never venture into these salons because mani-pedis are for the salaried. And because the first and only time I had a pedicure the bitch just tickled my feet for twenty minutes and it made me want to shove her face into the UV machine that "sanitizes" the nail clippers, which is really just a cheap-ass version of the Lite-Brite I had in kindergarden.
Anywho, I was walking down Broadway near 183rd St and happened to look up into the window of a nail place and saw a technician, buffing a woman's calloused heels (i.e. stumps from the petrified forest), with this:
Black & Decker Mouse Detail Sander, to be exact. Clearly this particular spa was confused about which "nails" they were supposed to be working with, opting to buy their power tools at the hardware store across the street instead of at Sally's. She was getting fucking busy on those feet, though, sweeping up and down in gargantuan circle motions, leaving no hardened skin unbuffed. Two other bystanders and I tried to snap a picture, but because my phone processes commands like The Slowass Sloth, and because the tiny women in the store were catching on pretty quick that there was an audience, we failed. But still. A sander. A sander.
The one conclusion we can draw from this ethnographical study: Ped Eggs are so over.