Nailing customer service

First, a disclaimer: I rarely write about local businesses by name,

and when I do, it’s only for a geographic sense of where I was at the

time. I also would never abuse a public forum by accepting any favors

from any business or any requests to publicize them.

That being said, I want to talk about toenails. Mine are hideous,

gnarled specimens that could be used in a horror movie. I could

picture them sealed in a glass jar in the attic of “The Skeleton

Key.”

When I finally had enough therapy to allow me to take off my

year-round tennis shoes, I found that these talons could be made to

look passably good with the right pedicure and a good coat of polish.

Thus empowered, I was able to resolve nail-shame issues and start

wearing sandals and flip-flops.

For a long time I frequented a large local shop that had a brisk

business. They got me in and out quickly, since they had lots of nail

technicians. The employees talked on their cellphones, joked and

chattered in Vietnamese, and I always worried they were talking about

how ugly my toenails were. Truth be told, sometimes they would bring

other technicians over to look at my feet.

I tried to learn some Vietnamese to chat with them, but I ended up

lapsing red-faced into a magazine. If I had to hide under People

magazine, it was just the price of getting into sandals.

A few months later, however, I sat in a walk-in clinic talking to

the doctor who was tending to my ulcerated toe. Like so many other

women (and some men), I had faith that my nail salon disinfected

carefully between clients. I had not watched too carefully, nor had I

checked on the cleanliness of the tools, but here I was with this

oozing sore. My mind immediately turned to sepsis, hospitalization

and death.

Luckily, the prognosis was less grim, and I was put on an

antibiotic.

“Go over to Happy Nails by Triangle Square,” said my doctor. She

and I had discussed many areas of interest during the times I had

visited the clinic. She helped me out with tips for swimming pool

hair, and she’d seen me through cracked heels, spider bites and

numerous other minor crises.

“That’s where I go,” she added.

I figured if a doctor went there, then so should I.

I’ve been going to Happy Nails over by Jamba Juice and Coldstone

Creamery ever since. (Seems as if I identify everything by food.)

What first struck me was the quiet in the salon. There is little

foreign cross-talk, and no technician is ever on a cellphone. It was

also scrupulously clean.

The shop’s owner, Christie Tran, had a pleasant demeanor and

obvious caring for her clients. I had observed her checking each nail

tub and insisting it be completely disinfected between each client.

The same went for the tools used on hands and feet.

“I know it may take a little more time,” she told me, “but if

there is a choice between someone waiting a few minutes and my

employee using clean supplies, I will encourage the customer to wait.

If she leaves, I still have my integrity.

“I know some of my employees are still learning English and need

to communicate in their own language,” she adds, “but I feel it’s

rude to be constantly talking in another language. I want this to be

a haven, not a zoo.”

Professional integrity and her friendly way with customers are her

trademarks. She raised two little boys and then received her state

license and worked as a nail technician. Now, at age 37, and with the

support of her husband, she owns her own franchise.

“I am willing to do whatever it takes to run a clean, friendly

salon,” Tran says. “I will not pressure a client into an extra

service, and I insist the girls always have a cheerful attitude. If a

customer comes back with a complaint, it will be fixed, free of

charge.”

Her salon faces lots of competition, yet Tran is willing to be

patient as her clientele builds. “I’m not afraid of working hard,”

she says. “When you put 100 percent into what you do, you will

eventually be rewarded.”

After the customers leave, Tran stays and cleans the salon until

it is even more immaculate. When she finishes up, around 9:30, she

sometimes sits in one of the chairs and gazes around the room.

She thinks to herself, “This is my salon, and I’m running it my

way.” And she smiles.

* SUE CLARK lives in Costa Mesa and is a therapist in Newport

Beach. She can be reached at o7tallteacher@comast.net f7or (949)

275-4905.