Last night I walked from my job near City Hall all the way to the East Village, where I decided to get a manicure and pedicure. Salons on Avenue A are really cheap and have great service so as to compete with the nearby salon that is cheap and has great service.

Anyway, I was exhausted from work and from my walk and was happy to relax in a warm foot bath. My nail artiste was Lily, a Chinese immigrant who spoke zero English despite having lived here for 3 years. Next to me was an all-American blond, chatting with her nail artiste in some form of Chinese. All of the employees were cheerfully entertained and flattered with by this girl’s knowledge of their native tongue. For once, they didn’t have to struggle to speak English, it was the client who was struggling.

The girl had obviously spent quite some time in China, because from what I could understand (the English parts), she had extensive knowledge of places, pop culture, and events. The male member of the staff, perhaps the owner and/or a husband of an artiste showed the girl photos of his native land. He also discussed how he was a high-ranked military official back in China, with immense pride.

It hit me right then and there that this was truly New York City , right in that little salon. From the ambitious ex-Chinese military man who came here to open a nail salon, and looked back at his younger years with wistful pride. To Lily, who has managed to live in this country and only learn enough English words to do women’s nails. To the blond girl, immersed in multi-culturalism of New York City and the globalisation of the world. To me, the overworked patron of this salon because the manicures are a sweet deal at $7. What a little microcosm it truly is!

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