I act polite. "Well, Mr. Hunsaker, what can I do for you today?" I am hoping and praying he doesn't say the one thing I can't bear. But he does, "A pedicure young lady." I am horrified but try to seem nonchalant about the prospect of cleaning out the geriatric toe jam of a one hundred year old pain in the ass. He sits down and takes off his shoes and socks. "You clean 'em good, you hear?" he says and I am thinking, "Sure. You don't have to smell the stink...."
I place his gnarled old feet in the basin and walk away so they can soak. I take a sip of my Mr. Pibb and realign my priorities. Then, Mr. Twat Hammer screams at me, " I'm not here for my health young lady! I want service, damnit!" Fuck you, you sorry, stinking, curly-toed bastard. But, I arrive at the basin with a clean towel and begin to dry his disgusting, veiny feet. His toes are badly misshapen and the nails are yellow, like they've smoked a pack a day for forty five years. I am about to wretch. These are the worst fucking feet I have ever seen.
"Listen to me when I talk to you young lady, you cut those damn things and buff 'em until they shine. You hear me? I want you to file and do God knows whatever else it takes to make them suckers look like baby feet." Baby feet? Yeah. Okay. I'll just get right on that, fuckface. "Well, Sir. I'll do my best."
I raise his right foot up and assess the damage. Fungus, Oh my fucking god. I begin with an alcohol swab then grab my clippers. Starting with the baby toe, I work my way toward the big one. It isn't easy. The nails split and crack and make incredible popping noises when the clipper cuts into them. I grasp his big toe between my index finger and thumb. It is lumpy and the large yellow crescent won't give because it's so damned brittle. I struggle with the clippers until I hear "Snap" and I witness the sharp, jagged scythe fly through the air and hit Mrs. Trumble on her heavily rouged cheek. "Oh my word!" she exclaims and I apologize. I look up at the old man and he is smiling. Creepy.
I reach for his left foot and ask him if
he's comfortable. That's when I notice the bulge forming in his trousers. He is looking at
the red half moon mark on Mrs. Trumble's withered cheek and getting a chubby over it. I
feel like I'm going to barf. "Mr. Hunsaker..." before I can finish my sentence
he says, "Not now young lady! Can't you see it's tea time?" Then he pulls those
slackened, paper cheeks back from his teeth and chuckles. Fucking perv.