Friday, 12 February 2010
'A Large Merlot & A Glass Of Ice For The Botox...'
I’ve always had a bit of complex when it comes to the way that I look, but that’s probably because in my youth at the awkward age of 16, I was a 19 stone beast before I blossomed from an ugly duckling into a urban chic gay man. At the tender age of 18 I got a job in a Botox and beauty salon whereupon I started having Botox myself. Now this was no ordinary salon, this was a salon in Manchester’s ‘Gay Village’ filled with wonderful and eccentric people and that was just the staff. It is from this wonderful clinic from Bloom Street that produced so many stories and introduced me to the intoxicated Gay Village.
I’d love to be able to tell you all that went on and the horrendous sights we saw in that salon, however I have signed a patient confidentiality form. There is just one little incident I can tell you about though, and that involves a back, sack and crack. For those of you who don’t know what that is it’s hair removal by waxing. I’m sure you’d be able to see pictures if you Google it, it’s probably next to anal bleaching, but that’s another story altogether.
Very nice men came into the salon one day, let’s call him Eugene, because that’s his name, and asked for said treatment. Now this man wasn’t a looker by any means, in fact he bore a striking resemblance to the Elephant Man only a little bit hairier. Sharen, our lovely aesthetic practitioner was Mr Eugene’s therapist for the treatment. As Sharen cranked up the heat on the wax pot Eugene stripped down and climbed aboard the bed. Sharen, ever the professional was gazing into Mr Eugene’s black hole when suddenly there was a movement. Not a bowl movement, but a sudden rush of excitement shall we say, shortly followed by a request to ‘make the wax hotter and the waxing harder.’ Now before you get the wrong idea, we might have been on the first floor down a corridor and offered massages but we weren’t that sort of salon, not unless I was in on my own. Sharen was blinded by surprise quite literally; she couldn’t wash the salt out of her eyes for weeks.
Ever the professional our Sharen stayed calm and left the room for Eugene to control himself. Shortly afterwards she went back in and finished the job, ahem! Well Eugene paid and left, and didn’t even tip, the nerve!
Now it’s no surprise that with working in the salon the staff quite liked to dabble into these treatments ourselves and to discuss them later over a glass of wine. I’ve had Botox and several skin peels whilst Nikki is a walking advertisement for aesthetic treatments. This particular evening we’d gone to a lovely plush bar when Sharen ordered ‘a large Merlot and a glass of ice for the Botox.’ (Nikki had told Sharen several times that she didn’t appreciate being called that) The confused waiter wandered off and quickly returned with the order to which Sharen dived into her Mary Poppins handbag and I kid you not, pulled out a small ice bag filled with Botox. Now this is quite normal for us, but you could imagine the look on the poor French waiters face.
Continuing our conversations about what we’d like to have nipped and tucked, Nikki piped up as she was rubbing her liposuction marks on her bingo wings, ‘I’d never have anything done, I’m completely happy with myself.’