Cracked Roots & Roses 32: Denise

I started paid training at the spa the Monday after graduation. My last unemployment check came that Friday, and my first check from the spa arrived the following Friday. I didn’t miss a payment and never went hungry.

I took the three-hour drive down to Springfield on a Sunday to take the state board exam for nail technology. The test was hard, but I knew the material, so I finished before anyone else. I credit the Lord because, to this day, I cannot remember any of the medical terms or their definitions. I passed with a 97. I still wonder what two questions I missed—it’s the competitor in me, I guess.

I applied for my license, wrote a separate letter to explain my conviction, and sent it off with the fees and a prayer. Two months passed, and I hadn’t received anything in the mail. Everyone else I graduated with, who was working at the spa, got their licenses within a week of their exams. Anne Marie would ask me almost daily if my license had come yet, as she was stalling corporate because my grace period was long over.

Eventually, I received a letter from the state asking me to complete another form, so I did. Then, just when all hope seemed lost, my license arrived in the mail. I was officially a LICENSED professional nail technician. Glory to God.

I worked at the spa for four and a half years. During that time, I made many friends—not from the employees, but from my clients. I felt like I was finally thriving in life. I led people to Jesus and prayed for someone new almost every day. My tips were good, and my pay was even better. All was well in the world—except for things with the nail department lead. Her name was Denise.

The turnover in the nail department was astronomical because of Denise. She was the kind of supervisor who slept with her fists balled up and had a problem for every solution. To make matters worse, she wasn’t very fond of me and made rules designed specifically to keep me in line.

I wouldn’t have minded these rules if they came from a place of genuine concern for the company, but they didn’t. They came from a place of bitterness and jealousy. I was new, fresh out of school, but I was the most requested out of the 12 of us. My work was neat, I was professional, and I had a ton of regular clients. Denise, on the other hand, had been a nail tech for 12 years and couldn’t paint her way out of a paper bag. Many times, I was asked to redo her work.

I knew her behavior stemmed from jealousy, and I even felt bad for her. Being shown up by a newbie must’ve been hard, so I tried my best to fly under the radar. It didn’t work. She started telling other leads that I was rebellious and hard to work with. Soon, I was getting the head tilt and stiff lip when I walked into the break room or up to the front desk.

Thankfully, Anne Marie didn’t believe the rumors. She eventually became a regular of mine and heard firsthand accounts from clients who liked me.

One day, I was praying for a woman who had cancer. I wasn’t bothering anyone, nor was I loud. But Denise reported me to Anne Marie, saying I shouldn’t be talking about religion at work. The kicker? Denise was a Christian and active in her church.

Anne Marie resolved the issue of me praying for people openly by giving me a designated treatment room where I could pray for whomever I wanted. When Denise heard about this, she was hotter than fish grease. From that moment on, she turned up the heat on my hazing.

Every other day, she reported me for something, moved my things to the “bad” station, or whispered behind my back. None of it mattered because I never got in trouble—I had favor with the spa director.

Things came to a head when Denise asked me to walk with her to talk. I was nervous because Denise didn’t have any “nice” in her, so this couldn’t be a good exchange. We walked past the office, into the elevator, and then outside toward the corner.

I stopped and said, “Denise, where are we going? Whatever you need to discuss should be done in the spa.”

She spun around, pointed her finger in my face, and said, “NOBODY here likes you! You better become a better team player real quick, or you’ll be out of a job!”

I was stunned. I had worked with ignorant, unprofessional people before, but never anyone this hostile. I don’t know why I was surprised—this was the same woman who, on my third day of employment, asked me if I knew who my daughter’s father was. She did this outside because she knew if she did it inside the spa, someone would’ve overheard her.

As this was happening, with her finger still in my face, Anne Marie and Betsy crossed the street from lunch. I turned and walked straight to Anne Marie, saying, “I will be calling corporate as soon as I get home. I will not continue to be harassed like this.”

The following week, a representative from HR flew down from Sandpoint, Idaho, to mediate the matter. It was a big deal because corporate had received many complaints about Denise.

After talking to Denise, Anne Marie, and me, they decided to reprimand Denise and instructed her to never speak to me without a third party present.

I liked the spa but grew tired of dealing with Denise. She was the thorn in my side. Even typing this now, I’m having a mild visceral reaction. I told the Lord I wanted to leave the spa.

I applied at other spas and got offers at both. But I had no peace or release to leave. I also knew if I left because of Denise, I would encounter a “Denise 2.0” at the next job. So, I stayed.

One evening, Denise was the closing lead, and I was the last tech in the pedicure room. After finishing with my last client, I began to shut down my station. Denise pulled the curtains shut and said, “I want to talk to you.”

I sighed and said, “It needs to wait until a third party is present.”

Then, I saw a need in her face.

I said, “Okay, what is it?”

She explained that she and her husband had purchased a house last year before selling their current one, and now they were stuck with two mortgages they couldn’t afford. She said, “We’ve had the house on the market for months. We’ve taken it on and off and lowered the price, but still nothing.”

Rolling her eyes, she added, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Her flesh was starting to rise up, but then she said, “I just want to know if you could pray for us to sell the house.”

My flesh was rising too—I didn’t want to pray for my antagonist. This woman had tried to ruin my reputation, cut my hours, and give my requests to others. She had said the most cruel things to me.

But right then, God gave me compassion for her. God loved her, even though I didn’t.

I couldn’t pray for her in my own strength, so I asked the Lord to give me the words and His strength. He did. I reached out to grab her hands, but she jumped—she didn’t want me to touch her.

I prayed for her house to sell within three days for more than their asking price. I thanked the Lord for her and asked Him to bless their marriage. After the prayer ended, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked out.

It didn’t bother me—I was just happy to pray.

Three days later, as I was setting up the pedicure room, Denise came in smiling.

“You’ll never guess!” she said.

I stared at her while rolling towels.

“The house sold! And it sold for $10k more than the asking price.”

I said, “Well, praise the Lord!”

She replied, “Well, I did have other people praying too, so it could’ve been all those prayers.”

I said, “Then why tell me?”

She was speechless—for once.