Aaina Salon & Spa

In short: keep your cute (or gnarly) toes headed in the other direction.
I should have left when I realized the massage chair vibrated like a coin-​operated bed and the girl asked if I was wearing polish. Yes, she was looking at my toes covered in chipping deep red paint. Yeah, they got a bright one there, folks.
The nail tech obviously didn’t want to be there. A little scrub. A slather of lotion on my shins. Mis-​matched flip flops. A coat of paint. The ‘spa’ pedicure was concluded.
After seeing the meh job she did on my tootsies, I asked about a drier. Nope, no driers. If my toes weren’t dry when she was done with my fingernails, I could walk out (into the snow flurries and 25-​degree wind) barefoot. I should have left without my pre-​paid mani.
The mani was bad. She pushed back my cuticles, but didn’t trim them up. My nails were filed, but all different lengths and shapes and included a few angles I’d last seen in 9^th grade geometry class.
No sooner did she finish applying inconsistent nail polish, did she tell me I could go. What? My very wet nails wouldn’t possibly make it into my coat, let alone through putting my shoes on. «Have a great evening» was her fake perky retort. The salon was closed (they close at 5p weekdays).
With ruined nail polish, I made my way to my car and home to hubby to show off my attempt to be his beautiful bride.