You want to know WHY I peddle nail thingies for a living.
I'll tell you the whole story. No edits. The Gospel Truth. The Whole Enchilada. The Entire....ummm...sheet of nail shields???? <sigh>. I need more coffee.
Soooo....most of the time, I'm a teacher. Yep. I teach high school. English. 11th and 12th graders. No, I don't think I'm braver than you, I mean there are dust bunnies that have laughed at ME. What? No....I don't want to slap the teenagers...most of the time. No...I'm not crazy. At least I don't think so?
I also have three bambinos. Three smart bambinos. Three adorable bambinos. Three...well, you get the picture. Gamer Boy is 14, Dancing Queen is 11, and Little Buddy is 9 (thank you for asking). To explain how I became a Nail Lady, we need to talk mostly about Dancing Queen. It's not that it's completely her fault....but....well....ummm.....
She dances. In dance competitions. I know what you're about to say. Yes, I've seen "the show." No. We're nothing like that. Nuh uh. Really! We like each other. We get along. No....not the fake stab you in the back kind of get-along where you're only being nice so you can sneak into the dressing room and put pepper spray in the other girls' eye makeup, the real kind where we do stuff together and hang out and having Stoning Parties...I said "stoning," not "stoner." Ya know, like rhinestones? What? You don't like rhinestones? What about glitter? Sequins? Oh, will you forget that SHOW?????
Back to Dancing Queen. She taps. She jazzes it up. She's a ballerina. She's lyrical dancer. She's even a hip hop diva. That means she needs: leotards, tights, shorts, skirts, tap shoes, ballet shoes, pointe shoes, dance paws, turning shoes, and jazz shoes. She needs costumes, rhinestones, and accessories. She needs entry fees, hotel money, and gas money to get to and from competition. In short, Dancing Queen makes my wallet cry just as often as her performances make ME cry (tears of joy....don't get the wrong idea).
I needed...money. So how do people make money? Hmmm...yessss. They get a job. Wait. I have one of those. I need a second job????? Oooohhh....<big sigh>. I began to imagine myself in all sorts of different jobs. What if I.....worked at McDonald's??? Wait...wait. I'd have to work FOR one of my students. I just couldn't see myself saying, "Yes, sir" to a pimply, scraggly 17 year old kid who failed his vocabulary test and told me Whitman sucks just last week. No. No good. What about Hobby Lobby? Goodness knows I practically live there already. Might as well get paid for it. Except -- they close at 8 PM and they're not open on Sundays. That means I could work...one day a week? Yeah. No. Tutoring? I'm supposed to do that for free. Cleaning lady (stop laughing...I really considered it, and yes I've seen the inside of my car). Not possible. Lawn care service? I make plants wither up and die by my very presence. I was stumped.
There I was, in this state of perpetual anxiety, apologizing daily to my one and only credit card for the supreme abuse I was about to unleash upon it with yet another dance season, when I started to see these Facebook posts. Jamberry Nails. All these pictures of fabulous nail designs. Huh. How are they doing THAT? I clicked on a few. Interesting. Pretty. Those are really neat. I can't afford it (the credit card cheered), but cute. So I clicked on something else. But I kept going back to those posts. So many designs! And they look so easy to use....
Then I saw a different kind of Jamberry post. "Join my team -- ask me how you can earn extra money working just a few nights a month." Ohhhh....it's one of THOSE companies <insert eye roll here>. It's like Avon for the 21st century.
Wait <eyes open wide>. It's like Avon for the 21st century! I started to try to imagine it. Me. A direct sales lady. Only I'm terrible at selling things. I say, "Come buy my super cool ya gotta have it now thingamabob only $9.99" and person I'm just sure has got to be interested says, "No" while nearly running from me, and I yell, "Thank you for at least making partial eye contact with ME!!!!" What the heck am I thinking? I'd be PEG in Edward Scissorhands <deep convulsive shudder>!
Just then, I heard a tiny voice from my purse (shut it...some Visa cards can talk. Every time you say one can't, a Visa card somewhere DIES. Now quick -- ring a bell). It said, "Please -- try it. You've just gotta do something! Ya gotta be there for me! Please, Stacia....please talk to the Jamberry woman <sniff sniff sob>." Awww....I gotcha little guy. There, there. So I went to Facebook and I typed in the name of the lady who had been putting up the Jamberry posts. Then I sat there. I stared at the little instant message box for what had to be 10 minutes. Paralyzed. Frozen. Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. Then I did it. I reached deep down inside my non-sales-person gut and I typed, "Tell me about selling Jamberry."
Then I waited. Heart racing, blood thundering through my veins. She won't see it. The cosmos know I'm going to be horrible at this -- they'll somehow prevent that message from ever reaching her. The hand of the almighty sales god will call me a blasphemer and throw me down to retail Hades for even thinking there's any way I could make this work. I'm an idiot. I'm crazy. I just need to start selling junk on ebay...I need to just go down to WallyWorld and....I need to.... Just then....she answered my message -- ding. Ohhhh!!!! And what she said had me signed up within the hour. Me. I did it. And 2 hours later...I had my online launch party set up and my first sale. It was happening! I was SELLING stuff to PEOPLE and they actually wanted to BUY it!!!!! No way!
I thought somehow I'd screw it up and the excitement would die down...but within the first 10 days of signing up, I had earned enough commission to pay for my consultant kit. Seriously. By the end of my first month, I earned enough to also cover Dancing Queen's tuition check. Just by hosting a few parties and showing people my fingernails (and my toes...sometimes). Plus the company gave me bonus money and free stuff. Nobody at my "other" job ever gives me free stuff just for doing what I'm supposed to do <BTW...hint hint school board. Hint hint>
And now, 3 months later, it still hasn't died down. I earned enough this past month to pay for Dancing Queen's first set of costumes (do a happy dance with me. Now she doesn't have to be on stage naked). And I'm having fun. Yep...FUN. I can't believe it either (did I mention I usually don't go to direct sales parties????). I actually like the parties. Me. The person voted "most likely to become a recluse" in her senior yearbook.
Oh...and did I mention my nails look FABULOUS? I mean...the Pampered Chef lady can't boast THAT, and the Scentsy lady only SMELLS good. And let's face it...the Tupperware lady only gets to store stuff. I look like I hang out with rich people in upscale salons. Bonus.
That's a real picture of my real nails in my real classroom yesterday. Fo' REAL. You can even see the love notes my darling students have left on the whiteboard behind my hand. Great stuff, like, "Ms. Porter is da bomb" and "This is Willie the Whale. Worship him." Ya can't buy that, right there. No sir.
So. That's it. The whole sordid tale. I'm a Nail Lady. And I actually like it. And My Nails Jam <hee hee get it? Do ya? Do ya?>. Hmph. Okay then. Everyone's a critic.....
And I'm going to reward you for reading the whole thing! Comment on this blog post and I'll put your name in a drawing for a free half-sheet of Jamberry Nails. It's kind of like an A+, or a gold star...or me letting you sleep in class without pitching my stuffed apple at your head. Good job!