The one with me and a spray tan machine

If you've never seen the scene of Friends where Ross gets a spray tan, please click the link and watch that now so that you understand my mindset going into this experience because like Ross, I'm an over thinker.  

You might remember me referencing getting a spray tan in my post of the weeks leading up to our vow renewal, but in that case, an actual person with a spray tan gun was in the room telling me exactly what I needed to do...minus the part where I assumed I was supposed to be naked. You see, I'm also an under thinker who doesn't ask enough questions, all of which I take full responsibility for and the embarrassment is all mine.  

As you've probably guessed, I tend to suck at first impressions.

So the story begins like this.

An over thinking under thinker decided to go to a spray tan machine. 

I called ahead to ask the questions; price, their hours, will I turn orange, etc... Once I decided to book an appointment, she told me that they were out of hair nets but if I have dark hair, it should't be a big issue. 

When an over thinker hears 'shouldn't be a big issue' it automatically becomes a big issue. This is my hair, after all. We're not playing around with shouldn'ts. So I showed up with a Walmart bag and a hair clip.

I arrived to discover a very pale front desk girl. Red flag #1.

As I purchased my package of 4 spray tans and she showed me into the room, I filled her in on how nervous I was, but she downplayed all my concerns and assured me it was very easy. The machine would tell me which foot to put on which number, then count me down and start spraying. I looked at the floor and saw the 1, 3, 4, and then a blank one. So I asked the obvious question of an over thinking under thinker. "There's no 2?" She stared at me like I'm the problem here and she obviously hasn't seen Friends. Red flag #2.

For the record, I stand by my question. Is the machine going to tell me to put my left foot on 2 or my left foot on blank, because that's something I need to know beforehand. 

Then she showed me how to stand with my arms to the sides and hands hanging down like an upside down field goal sign. She told me when I'm getting my front sprayed to slightly curl my fingers so I don't end up with white lines on my knuckles and when I'm getting my back sprayed, to bend my wrists and face my palms to the floor so they don't get sprayed. "Why?" I asked. She stared at me again and said, "Because tan palms don't look natural." 

Obviously. I was testing you, of course. Good job pale girl. 

Before she left the room, I told her I brought a Walmart bag for my hair because once I've made a moronic first impression with someone, I like to go all in. By the look on her face, I knew she probably wouldn't care to know that I'm going to leave my underwear on too.

Alone in the room, I carefully covered my hair with my bag and lotioned up all my creases. Then I stepped into the giant machine and waved my hand in front of the censor to begin. The machine voice came on and told me to put my left foot on 1 and my right foot on 3 and the countdown began, followed by a spray moving up the right front side of my body and face. Then it blew me dry and the voice said something again, but the machine was loud and my Walmart bag had fallen over one ear and I thought it said turn to the right, but during the countdown I wondered if maybe it said turn left, and I couldn't stop wondering if one of my ears was going to be white from the bag covering it and just as the machine reached the end of the countdown, I jumped around to the left and it began spraying my back right side. 

Ok, that's good, the right side is completely done. I quickly fixed my Walmart bag and listened closely to the directions and it very clearly told me to turn to the right. Well, I can't do that again because I'll definitely get double sprayed, so I committed to continuing left and hoping for the best despite doing literally the exact opposite of everything the machine was telling me to do, but as long as all my sides got sprayed, no harm done. 

It wasn't until I stepped out of the machine and got dressed that I realized in all the confusion, I'd forgotten to flatten my hands and I stared down at my slightly brown palms knowing that they'd continue getting darker as the day went on. 

DAMMMITTTT.

I rushed out of the room in a panic. The girl looked up startled and asked "How'd it go?"

"I forgot to flatten my hands" and held up my brown palms to show her.

I wish I could adequately describe the expression on her face.

Look. I get it. We got off to a bad start and she thought I was an idiot. She's not the first person to think that and she won't be the last, but I'm standing there in crisis mode and all I needed to know was how to stop my hands from looking like gorilla mitts by bedtime. 

She finally snapped out of it and told me to use rubbing alcohol when I got home. I politely thanked her and left. 

Relieved that there was a solution to my problem, I glanced in the rearview mirror as I backed out of my spot and that's when I saw it.

The Walmart bag. 

 Still on my head. 

And we're gonna have to see each other 3 more times.