No One Pays Attention

As I slipped on my black Naturalizer sandals, I reminded myself that I was long overdue for a pedicure. It had been at least a couple of months since my last appointment and I had since trimmed most of my toenails. The only evidence that remained of my French pedicure was a jagged white tip on my big toenails.

I flashed back to a time earlier in my career. With four kids to feed and clothe, I had a very limited wardrobe and had to mix and match my outfits so that it would appear that I had more clothes than I actually owned. This worked fairly well but my memory was tested each week by trying to make sure I didn’t start out wearing the same outfit I had worn at the start the previous week. I came up with a plan and lined up my outfits in order but would try to vary the appearance each week by changing vests or jackets to change the look.

I was friends with several gals at my office and noticed that they repeated their outfits with nearly the same frequency as I did. I often wondered why I always stressed over my appearance so much when nobody else seemed to pay attention anyway.

One co-worker, Shelly, was a clothes horse. She was a single gal, had a never-ending wardrobe and usually dressed to the hilt. At the break room table one afternoon, she commented that she could always gauge the day of the week by the outfits I wore. “Black for Monday, Brown for Tuesday, Blue for Wednesday,” she chided. Embarrassed beyond words, I sunk down in my chair as I listened to her incessant teasing. I quipped back with a few teasing remarks and laughed along with everyone else, but all the while, I wished that the floor would open up and swallow me. She was right, after all, but who would have guessed that Shelly, of all people, would have paid any attention to my wardrobe? We were hardly competing with one another, she was single, and I was married.

I chuckled as I eyed my white-tipped toenails peeking out my open toed sandals. “Oh well,” I reasoned, “no one pays attention”. Gosh — I hadn’t thought of Shelley in years. I chuckled again and thought to myself, “At least I won’t have to worry about running into her today.”

I was expecting a visit from a ceramic tile contractor sometime later in the day and had a few errands to run. Not wanting to miss the contractor, I telephoned him to find out the status of his current job, so I would have a better idea on when he’d be stopping by. At the close of the call, the contractor advised me that it would probably be late afternoon before he’d get the time to come over and bid my job. “Terrific, I’ll have time to run down to Home Depot to price tile before he comes,” I thought to myself.

I fixed a quick breakfast and was gathering my purse and keys to head out the door when my cell phone rang. It was the tile contractor, asking if he could stop by in a half hour. That was a quick change of plans, but his timing was perfect since I was still home. I could go to Home Depot after his visit and take my time shopping. “Yes, John, come on over!”

John, the tile contractor, arrived on schedule. After he sized up the tile job, we made some small talk at the front door before he left. Just how we got onto the subject, I don’t know, but he mentioned that he’d gone to cosmetology school at one time to learn nail care. While he went on to explain why he chose do learn how to do nails, my mind wandered.

I looked at him a little closer and noticed his lean, muscular arms. He got those rock hard arms working with tile, not with nails. Thinking of some male hairdressers I’d known in the past, I wondered if John was gay. I tried to keep a straight face to mask my thoughts. To most people, my face is like an open book and John apparently read my reaction and exclaimed, “AND NO … I AM NOT GAY!” I threw my head back as I laughed out loud, somewhat embarrassed that he read my reaction, but my mind continued to wander as I thought of my stubby fingernails. I had only recently removed acrylic nails and the nail beds were still very rough. I hope he doesn’t notice.

I became a little self-conscious, thinking of how poorly my brittle fingernails must look to a trained professional. While he talked, I casually curled my fingers inward, hoping he wouldn’t notice my discomfort. Surely he can see I was trying to hide my fingers, and so I nonchalantly swung my arms behind my back while John continued to talk about nails. I nodded periodically and he continued to talk. He then mentioned his wife and told me how long they’ve been married. I could hear John continue to talk about the key to a successful marriage … I nodded continually but was totally distracted. “A manicure and pedicure can cost upwards of $40,” I calculated to myself. The bookkeeper in me envisioned John giving his wife of over thirty years, a manicure every week and I added up the annual savings. “Maybe it was a worthwhile investment to learn how to do nails after all,” I pondered to myself. I’m sure I could steady my stubby fingers long enough to paint someone else’s nails…”

John interrupted my thoughts as he said, “Come on — let’s go out to the truck.” John wanted to show me the waterproof backing he would be using under the tile in my tub. We walked outside to his work truck and he showed me a piece of the Hardibacker ™ board. I had some concerns earlier as to how sturdy the material would be behind my tile.  He knocked on it and banged it on the fender of his work truck. “Knock on this, it’s tough as cement” and pushed the Hardibacker ™ board towards me. I was convinced that the material was appropriate for the walls of my tub. He then gave me a quick demonstration of how he cut tiles and showed me some of the tile cutting equipment he uses.

I had already researched John’s contractor’s license with the Arizona State Registrar of Contractors. I was very impressed with the time he took to assure me of his talents. At this point, I was nearly convinced that he was the right man for the job.

As he turned to get into his truck, he exclaimed, “Oh, I see that you got yourself a French pedicure ahwile back”

H’yeah right, no one pays attention. How do I curl my toenails under without being obvious?

Post Script: We hired John to tile nearly half our home. His work was exceptional and he is a true professional. During the time John worked in our home, Bill and I got to know and love him. Well, let me rephrase that … Bill only likes John — I am the one who loves him! John is a story waiting to happen. When he starts publishing some of his many tales, I expect to say I knew him when. Please honor the best darned State of Arizona licensed tile contractor, John J. Sullivan, by visiting his web site at: JJ Sullivan.com.

Post Post Script:  John Sullivan now has us as a repeat customer.  Total jobs to date: FIVE.  If our repeat business doesn’t speak volumes for his work, I don’t know what does.

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