— I don’t like this haircut. I’m not going to pay.
The blonde had been arguing with the salon receptionist for half an hour, where Nastya worked as a manicure and pedicure specialist.
— Miss, you only trimmed the ends. It’s not a “haircut.”
— Oh, is that so? Then what is it, by law…?
— Fine. What do you want? For the stylist to give you a full haircut? — the receptionist asked, dripping with irony.
— I’m not paying, and I want the service for free as an apology.
— I’ll have to clear that with the salon owner.
— Then do it! I’ll wait! — the blonde snapped, turning sharply and plopping into a chair. Her gaze fell on Nastya, who was coming out of the treatment room with another client. — No way! Naska?! Is that you?
Nastya flinched. The voice from her past yanked her back ten years, to when her family had just moved into this new neighborhood. That’s when she’d met the local “gang” of girls led by Ira—the very same girl now lounging arrogantly on the salon’s couch.
Nastya had always been the straight-A, well-behaved kid in the yard. After moving, she often caught sharp looks from the neighbor, Ira—someone who loved attention and couldn’t stand anyone doing better than her. Ira would jab at Nastya, trying to provoke tears, but Nastya would only smile and walk on. That was, until one day when Ira and her posse cornered her, threw her into the mud, and filmed her crying. Her pristine white dress turned to rags, and her pride was trampled in the dirt.
Luckily, Nastya’s parents were away, so she avoided questions—but the memory of that cruelty and the terrible video they kept threatening to show haunted her forever. From then on, she took the long way home to avoid those girls. Later, she met a boyfriend, and Ira could only watch in envy as handsome Seryozhenka from the parallel class walked Nastya home.
Seryozha fell for the honor student Nastya—even though, thanks to Ira and her friend Vika (who studied with Nastya), she was teased for being a bookworm: “nerd,” “teacher’s pet,” and a hundred other insults.
Vika, from a wealthy family who could have anything she wanted, resented quiet Nastya. It annoyed her that Nastya got top grades without help and always looked clean and well-dressed, despite her family’s modest means. Even being dumped in the mud didn’t stop Nastya from coming to school in pretty, neat clothes, unfazed by the bullies.
— You think that because you get straight A’s you’re better than us? — Vika had sneered one day in the corridor, tripping her.
Nastya fell, her books scattering. Laughter echoed around her. She quietly gathered her things and left. She knew there was no point in fighting back—envy can’t be beat with words. Seryozha wasn’t there at the moment, but when he heard what happened, he found Vika and explained how friends should treat each other.
After that, Ira and Vika left Nastya alone—but the bitterness remained.
After school, Nastya trained as a pedicure specialist and got a job in a salon because her family needed the money. The work was hard, but she loved helping people look and feel cared for.
Years passed. Nastya built her clientele and dreamed of opening her own salon one day.
That afternoon, she finished with a client and stepped out to see the receptionist embroiled in an argument—and to spot Ira, the blonde, surveying the salon with haughty interest.
— Nastya… Wow. I thought you’d become a doctor or a lawyer, — Ira snorted, lips curled in contempt. — And you… you’re filing nails now.
Nastya only smiled, masking a flicker of irritation.
— Hi, Ira. Yes, I work in beauty. I love helping people take care of themselves.
— Sure, sure, — Ira rolled her eyes. — So the teacher’s pet is using her hands instead of her head.
— Anastasia is an excellent technician, — a client interjected. — After her work, you don’t need another appointment for a month. I only come to her. And what have you achieved in life?
Ira’s mouth snapped shut—she hadn’t expected a stranger to defend Nastya.
— Believe me, more than you. I’m not washing other people’s feet.
Their banter was cut short by the salon owner, who came out to soothe the disagreement.
— Since the technician did the service, we can offer you a discount, but we can’t provide it entirely for free.
— What about compensation? — Ira demanded.
— We’re currently running a promotion: you pay for supplies and take part in a “shooting.”
— Shooting? What’s that?
— We’re updating our portfolio and need models.
— Fine. — Ira frowned at first, but then a gleam of triumph lit her eyes. — I’ll do it—if I go to her. I need a pedicure.
— Very well. Nastya, are you free right now?
— No, I have an appointment, — Nastya answered quickly.
— And I can’t come right now either. I’ll come in a week. With a friend. — Ira declared, stretching her grin.
— All right. Nata, book the two clients for pedicures.
— Please sign the agreement, — the receptionist said, as Nastya returned to the treatment room, feeling a twinge of discomfort knowing Ira would be back soon. Nastya was sure Ira had some scheme to humiliate her, file a complaint, or get her fired. She even considered filing an administrative report—but then a better idea struck her.
A few days later, a whole party arrived: Ira and her sworn friend Vika.
— We’re here for pedicures! — Ira announced triumphantly. — Vika first, then me.
— Hello, “Nail Queen,” — Vika greeted Nastya, looking down her nose. — How’s the honor student doing? I see straight A’s didn’t help you get anywhere.
— They did. I’m studying by correspondence and making good money.
— Oh, sure, “good money.” I, for example, run my own business. And you work for an auntie! With brains, you could’ve poached my clients!
Nastya didn’t reply. She nodded, focusing on her tools. The girls exchanged knowing glances and giggles. When they took off their shoes, the reason became clear.
— Oh, — Vika declared with affected delicacy, peeling off dirty socks, — I just came from sports practice. Forgive me—I didn’t have time or the desire to wash my feet.
A foul stench drifted through the room—Nastya realized that Ira had instructed Vika to come prepared.
The filthy, neglected condition of Vika’s feet spoke volumes. Nastya understood they hadn’t come for a pedicure; they’d come to humiliate her, to make her scrub this “nightmare.” But they’d forgotten that a professional’s result is what really matters.
— I haven’t been to a salon in two months since my dacha trip, — Vika winced. Nastya guessed Vika had never visited a reputable master. — Ir, do you think our manicurist can handle this? Or is her “talent” overrated?
— Of course she can, — Nastya replied calmly, moving the camera closer.
— Hey! Why the camera?! — Ira flailed.
— For our records. The owner needs to ensure we perform our duties properly, — Nastya explained evenly. — You did sign the agreement, right? And per policy, we film before and after shots to showcase our work.
— Ugh! I thought I’d get to troll you again, but it looks like Ir set me up! — Vika snapped.
The friends froze. They’d expected to mock Nastya, but instead they’d fallen into her trap.
— I’m not doing this pedicure, then. Next time, — Ira said, hastily pulling on her sneakers.
— No, you will. Take off your socks and show those filthy heels! I kept my promise: I came with dirty socks and unwashed feet—everything you asked for! — Vika protested, convinced her friend was betraying her.
But Nastya was already working on Vika’s feet, and leaving one heel unfinished would look odd. Once the girls realized they were being recorded, Nastya stifled her laughter and got to work. And she did an impeccable job: the calluses vanished, the nails were neat, the skin soft. The transformation was stunning, and Nastya knew the video would make an impact.
Vika had nothing to say.
Well, almost nothing—she hissed at Ira when the latter refused to take off her socks.
— You idiot, Ir! I’m never going out with you again. You promised me a freebie, and now everyone thinks I’m a slob!
— You are a slob. Who told you to come in dirty socks?
— You! You told me to humiliate Nastya!
They bickered all the way to the bus stop, but nothing changed. The agreement was signed, and the video was shot and soon published.
The internet exploded. Viewers couldn’t believe anyone could let their feet get so bad. Some laughed, some gawked, others speculated about these “heroines” who arrived with feet like a homeless person’s. The video of Vika’s neglected feet amassed hundreds of thousands of views.
Within a couple of days, Nastya’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. She’d not only posted the clip but added a note about the importance of self-care. People praised her professionalism, and her client list grew. To top it off, she inadvertently made Vika and Ira famous—others shamed them online for their poor hygiene and disrespect. Nastya later learned that Vika’s boyfriend left her after friends showed him the clip.
“I won’t live with a tramp. Clean yourself up, then maybe we’ll talk,” he wrote, after someone sent him the video.
Of course, Vika didn’t let it go. When she came back to complain, Nastya and the owner met her calmly.
— You had no right to post that! — Vika exploded. — It’s private!
— You signed the agreement for a barter service, — the receptionist reminded her gently. — Your friend read the terms and agreed to filming for the portfolio. You signed, too, instead of paying. The contract clearly stated videos could be used for advertising.
Vika hadn’t read it. She and Ira had simply wanted to prank Nastya—and ended up the butt of the joke.
— It’s unfair! — Vika shrieked.
— You came here with filthy feet on purpose, to ruin my work day. That’s unfair, — Nastya replied calmly.
— I’ll take you to court!
— Then you’ll get a counter-suit for defamation of the salon and insults to the technician. All your comments were recorded and can be presented in court if needed. So think carefully about what you risk. We did nothing wrong—you came with neglected feet and treated me poorly. — The owner spoke firmly, protecting her staff.
Vika left. After consulting a lawyer, she realized she had no case. There was a signed agreement, and the girls had said many cruel things on camera. At most, she secured a promise not to publish more footage of the insults. Nastya agreed. She’d had her sweet revenge.
Ira and Vika lost. And Nastya? She saved up and opened her own salon—and never again let anyone humiliate her.
She gained not only a reputation as a top specialist but also proof that if you’re a true professional and stand your ground, no one can bring you down—and any dirty trick can be turned to your advantage.© Stella Chiari