You would think that people in Southern California would have no need for fake tanning. People here are very body conscious though and that extends to tanning. People want it to appear that they are out and about living the good life, even if they are instead curled up on their couch at home watching old movies. Sailing? Beach days? Para-sailing? Golfing? Afternoons at the pool? Everyone wants to project the life of leisure.
My life is not leisurely. I do, however, get a fair amount of beach time due to where I live. (And because I would curl up and die without it!) I am not tan though. I am fair skinned by nature. I have never gone to a tanning salon either. Well, not until last night. After the incident back in April with the home tanning lotion, I pretty much have resigned myself to being white and pasty.
Last night I decided it was time to branch out, spend a few bucks, and try the local tanning salon. I would not waste my money on tanning normally. However, we've got that non-stop bathing suit vacation looming on the horizon. I feel like it would be a terrible thing to expose total strangers to my pure whiteness. So off I went to the closest tanning salon.
Sixteen Year Old Girl greeted me. She had bleached her hair pure white, but man, oh man, was she TAN. She explained to me how the spray-on tans work, sold me a package of 5 sessions, assured me I would not turn orange, and showed me to a room. (Yes, I am probably a sucker buying 5 sessions, but she said it takes a minimum of 2 just to show up and I am really, really, white!) As she showed me into my room she informed me that another customer was waiting to use the booth after I finished. (Meaning, "Hurry, I am rushing you"!)
I stripped off my clothes and put on the shower cap to keep my blonde hair from turning brown. Sixteen Year Old Girl had told me it would wash out of my hair if any got on it, but really, who wants to experiment with that? Next I put lotion on my hands, elbows, knees and ankles. She said that would keep those areas of my body from "turning all funky". Hmmm … I certainly would not want funky. I was trying to work fast because another customer is waiting. Then I pushed the green button and stepped into the booth.
The booth TALKS! The booth told me to push a second green button that "is located right in front of you dumb ass!" Well, the booth did not say dumb ass, but the booth definitely implied dumb ass. I pushed green button number two. Then everything went crazy all at once. All of a sudden I realized I had forgotten to put the little booties on my feet before entering the booth. Ohmygawd, Ohmygawd, Ohmygawd, I am going to end up with FunkyFeet! FUNKYFEET!!
Before I had time to remedy the urgent bootie problem, THE BOOTH told me to put my left foot on the number one and my right foot on the number three because "spraying will commence in two seconds". I quickly abandoned any thought of getting out of the booth to put booties on because there was simply no time! I glanced down at the floor to find the numbers one and three. I was paying for my first ever tan (Goddamn it!) and I was going to get it! (Even if I was already sentenced to FunkyFeet.)
There were NO numbers on the floor! Ohmygawd, Ohmygawd, Ohmygawd! And with that I heard a "swoosh" and the booth started spraying. I searched the floor AGAIN and thought I could see the faint impression of where, perhaps, once upon a time, some sticker numbers might have existed on the floor. Before I could possibly decipher the faded glue marks on the floor, the entire booth was filled with spraying mist and I could not see a thing.
The booth continued to talk to me. It would admonish me to now move my feet to numbers two and four, or one and two, or three and four, or … or … or! I stood there stark naked saying over and over, "Ohmygawd, Ohmygawd, Ohmygawd!" At one point I frantically started spinning in circles hoping for an "even" tan. At another point I stood perfectly still then suddenly leaped and turned to face the opposite direction. Arms in? Or arms out? All I know is that if they have hidden video cameras anywhere near that booth, somebody will be blackmailing me for life.
The end result? I can't really tell yet. It seems like the back of me is much darker than the front of me. Sixteen Year Old Girl had warned me that I wouldn't see much of a difference until after two visits and this was just my first. But my feet? The feet are definitely FUNKY. They are nearly black on the bottom and assorted colors everywhere else. Ohmygawd … I have FUNKYFEET!