Raised by Wolves

So I spent the weekend attending the “first annual Rockstarz Nail Extravaganza” hosted by Melissa Garcia, our local Young Nails distributor.


A great many stories come to mind when I think back on all the years I’ve waited for quality educational events (of the nail variety) to come to the central California valley — all of which end up with much muttering and cursing and reminding myself that I have suffered some serious disillusionment from more than one industry source (insert muttering and under-the-breath cursing here).


So it is with open arms that I welcome Melissa’s distributorship and resulting attention from the industry. Of course I attended both days of education held at the local convention center over the last two days.


Not to mention the chance to hang with Greg Salo himself — pretty cool way to spend your educational dollars, if I do say so myself.


Tonight I’m home, and the BF asks about my classes. He did see me after class on Day 1, but we spent most of that evening at the “after party” dancing and getting our groove on to some sweet local talent. (BTW, I’m not really sure if it’s appropriate to have an “after party” on the first day of the event.)


So anyway, the thing is, I’m not stoked. I’m not bouncing off the walls. I’m not excited about my two days. My brain is not churning with ideas to try out after learning all sorts of nifty stuff.


I told this to the BF and he cocked his head to one side like a parakeet, every bit as confused as to how this could be as I was. Then it hit me!


See, my mood can change dramatically with the most seemingly insignificant incident, which is exactly what happened today.


Yesterday, at the end of the class as we were all packing up, we were told not to take home the rubber practice hands that had been lovingly set up at each “station” on the tables in the room where the class took place. Also, please don’t take home the products that were provided for use during the class. If we were returning for the second day, go ahead and leave our name plates at our “stations.”


Totally cool. No problem. Makes perfect sense. I cannot believe anyone in their right mind wants those dang rubber practice hands anyway! But, of course, a few disappear with every class. Not mine. No way. That thing went right back home with Melissa.


There were a few people who were only able to attend Day 1, and some new faces arrived today to fill those spots — actually, I think more than fill the empty spots. This gig was a roaring success!


This morning I returned to my spot on the far left corner of the back row, got myself all situated for the day with my latte in hand, and watched as fellow classmates started filing in. An older woman (way old enough to have better manners) came in and picked out an empty seat two rows in front of me. The seat did not have a rubber practice hand, so this women turned around and took the practice hand off of someone else’s spot! A spot that was obviously occupied! Not only was there a name plate on the “station” but this girl’s products and implements were on the table. And her coat was on her chair with her purse. And if that wasn’t rude enough, then this woman realized she didn’t have any little jars of product, so she just turned around and took the ones off of someone else’s station!


I was aghast! I so wanted to interrupt the entire class just to call her out. Something like, “Oh my God! I am so glad I don’t work at the same salon as YOU! What? Were you raised by wolves?” She didn’t have a name tag either — makes me wonder if she crashed the class.


Such a shame that such a little observation could affect my mood for the whole day.


Totally not the YN crew’s fault though. The class totally rocked. I can’t wait for the Second Annual Rockstarz Extravaganza!



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