I was in a baaaaad mood Friday.
I worked from home which should have helped (any day I can avoid my commute on the LIRR should automatically be a good day) and after about five consecutive days of rain and cool temps, it was finally nice out.
(If I’m being honest, the raging PMS didn’t either. Anyway.)
Once I was able to log off and stop working, I decided I should venture out, enjoy the nice weather and go run some errands and get a manicure to better my mood. I got in my car, opened the windows and sunroof, blasted some music and immediately felt content. So I headed to the nail place for some good ol’ pampering.
It was pretty empty in there; aside from the workers there was a young-ish mom getting a pedicure while holding her young son, one other girl getting a manicure to my left and an older woman to my right. As I sat in the chair, an attractive blonde woman, probably in her 40s, came in and asked to get her eyebrows done. (If any guys are reading this, “done” means “waxed.”) The owner of the salon told her she’d need to wait about five minutes. “No problem,” the blonde woman told her, and sat down in a chair.
The young boy who — up until this moment — had been sitting on his mom’s lap all of a sudden beelined towards the front door, which happened to be slightly ajar. The blonde woman quickly realized and stood up, shut the door and warmly smiled at the little boy.
“Where you do think you’re going?” she teased him, with a laugh. He laughed back. I smiled because I was no longer in my rotten mood and was actually capable of finding joy in something.
And that’s when I heard it.
A male voice, in the distance…angry. Yelling.
I turned to my right and saw a man standing right outside the salon, for lack of a better word having an “adult temper tantrum.” He looked PISSED.
“You’re a fucking bitch. Haaaad to get your eyebrows done. Needed em done for your thing Monday, right? Fucking asshole. Making me wait…“
Oh, shit. He is talking to the blonde woman. It’s now clear to me it’s her boyfriend? Husband? My stomach sinks listening and watching him berate her in public. I look to her to see her reaction. She’s mortified.
She laughs, nervously. He’s still yelling; gesturing at her. Cursing. Calling her names.
“Why don’t you go get a coffee, honey?” she tells him, trying to calm this human ticking time bomb.
She’s keeping her cool. I want to jump out of my skin.
One of the salon girls interrupts (good timing) telling her they’re ready to do her eyebrows. I don’t know whether to avoid eye contact as she walks past me or ask her if she’s OK. I don’t want to meddle. I just feel sick having witnessed that.
My blood boils; I start thinking (irrationally) about going outside and going off on this guy. This piece of shit, this garbage human, this worthless, disrespectful, abusive clown.
The woman to my right turns to me and simply says, “whoa.” I shake my head. I don’t even respond because I know whatever I say will make me sound like a complete mental case. Something like, “I’m gonna go out there and run him over with my car.”
Look, I don’t know this couple’s backstory. I don’t know anything except what I saw and heard. And what I saw was a woman humiliated in public by a man who should NEVER speak to a woman that way.
LADIES: DON’T EVER LET A MAN SPEAK TO YOU OR TREAT YOU THAT WAY. Not in private, not in public, not anywhere. A man who treats you with this level of disrespect is not a man at all. Please, please, PLEASE believe me when I tell you that you deserve better than that.
My nails are now done and I head over to the area where you dry them. My heart is beating 1,000 miles per minute and I feel that rage rising within me again. That foul mood from earlier in the day is back, now with a vengeance.
The massage guy asks if he can give me a quick massage and I oblige. It’s probably a good idea. He puts his hands on my shoulders and begins kneading.
“You’re tense,” he tells me.
Yeah, no shit.
For help with domestic violence, please call the Safe Horizon domestic violence hotline: 800–621–HOPE (4673).