The Edna Project--Part II (Diary of a Stager)

Click here to read Part I  http://arrangeforchangemn.blogspot.com/2011/07/edna-project-part-i.html

 Edna needs to stay in the house another night. I know this transition must be hard and this is very normal with a senior move, but it pushes our project back another day. I can't get any work done with her in the house. I imagine the smell of oil based primer, Edna pushing down the hallway with her walker, knocking over paint cans and getting primer on her elbows. I really can't imagine she'll appreciate me rubbing her down with paint thinner to get that stuff off—so I don't. I'm stressed in a 'calm before the storm' kind of way. Ok—so maybe I'll get a pedicure. I need to relax now, because once Edna moves I know I'll be there every day, in a rush to meet the deadline—the open house.

So I go into the salon and it's almost completely full—maybe a wedding party of some sort. They all know each other and are talking across the room. I follow the manicurist’s nod to the chair in the middle of the group—I hope I won't be interfering with their conversation here. I roll up my jeans and stick my feet into the little tub on end of the massage chair. Ahh—any minute, I know warm water will soon fill the basin and begin its work—just what I need on this rainy, Friday afternoon. I pick up my magazine, waiting, trying my hardest to relax. Chit chat chit chat chit chat over my head. Ignore it—read your magazine. Try to relax. Hmm. The water isn't getting warm. Ignore it—read your magazine. Try to relax. I do—I bury my head in my US Weekly and pursue relaxation. Then, “EEEEK!”, screams the manicurist. I look down. The floor around me is covered in water. It seems as though my chair has malfunctioned (which might explain the cold water) and has begun to flood the salon. Panic all around. Every employee abandons their customer and is working together on job number one—stop the water and clean the floor. Annoyed looks dart my way. I shrug and try to duck further into my magazine. From what I can hear (I'm avoiding all eye contact at this point), it seems the water has reached the plug-ins for the massage chairs and the well paying patrons of the salon are not getting the pampering they paid for. My phone rings. I reach precariously behind me to dig it out of my purse all the while trying to ignore my neighbor's glare. It's Pat. “Hi Pat....Uh huh....No—I'm not busy. I'm in the middle of a pedicure, but it's not going well..... Uh huh. Ok.... That's bad.....Yep...I'll head over now.” I need to run off to the job site to let in delivery men, and the call couldn't have come at a better time. I grab my bag, slip on my shoes and slosh out of the salon and I can feel the eyes. Well—so much for relaxation.