Serve yourself and go to Nail Service

With one foot inside the door of Nail Service and the other still on the noisy, busy concrete walkway of 1st Street in Little Tokyo’s Downtown LA, I feel the ‘Utopia of Pampering’ calling for me and I enter with a smile. Emily, the owner, greets me by my first name and takes me straight to the Holy Mecca of Chairs. Think recliner chair, the one your Grandfather would never leave and watch Days of Our Lives in; think that recliner chair was only made for you. Except this chair has all the bells and whistles, equipped with an electronic masseuse and a bubbling bath tub for your feet. The tub boils with lavender aromas that sooths your ever-moving mind; you melt into your seat, sigh, and think to yourself “Welcome to the good life.”

As I flip through the pages of the new Us Weekly, Jimmy, one of the technicians hands me a hot Green Tea. I sink deeper into relaxation. I tune out the electric buffer that creates a cloud of acrylic dust around the long-nailed ladies at the counter, and the tearing band-aid like sound coming from the wax room in back, because I have become completely enthralled with my neighbors conversation about The Bachelor on ABC. The gossiping ladies reel me in like I am the last fish in the sea and before I know it; I am a part of the poplar high school clan like I always wanted to be. We talk about absolutely nothing important but it’s fun and easy; it’s a guilty pleasure really. While playing ‘Chatty Cathy’ I didn’t notice the shy, male, first-timer that came to sit on my left. I wanted to reach out and say “I think it’s sexy that you care about your high-gene, nothings more of a turn-off than dirt under your nails. Good for you,” but I didn’t. I didn’t want to embarrass him. He would never come back. Instead I flirted shamelessly; batting my eyelashes in hopes that he will tell his pals the best place to meet women is at the nail salon, particularly Nail Service.

I gaze down in delight at my sparkling toes and can’t wait to put them in my new Christian Louboutins (I wish), and then I pay Emily before Jimmy puts the finishing touches on my manicure. I choose the classic French Manicure, because one thinks French and might think French Kissing; then again someone might think French bread. I concluded that the I’m Not Really a Waitress Red that I choose for my toes would counter act for the hands. Balance right?

As my nails dried, I planned the rest of my day in peace and relaxation. I felt beautiful and ready to walk the chaotic; I mean loving streets of DTLA. So when life beats me down or I just need a pick me up (and not a Red Bull, which gives me wings) I go to Nail Service.

Stay polished,

Carlyn

244 E 1st St
Los Angeles, CA 90012
(213) 626-0315

 And yes, that's the famous I’m Not Really a Waitress Red  pictured above!