As a 35 year old virgin tanning bed user, the first thing I noticed when I walked into a chain tanning salon was that there isn't a single person behind the counter who is over 20 years old. The senior bronze goddess quickly saw my translucent skin as her golden ticket to employee of the month. She pulled out her color chart and explained to me how I too could add color in plenty of time for my wedding with her magic machines.
We walked through the store and she began to weave her spell. I was enchanted with all of the products, the oils, the beds and features. So I signed up for the max plan that gave me unlimited access to all of the beds and the spray tan booth for instant tanning satisfaction. What the hay, it was on SALE!
The tanning lotion smelled great and as I climbed into the bed I tried to remember what all the little buttons did. How could this go wrong?
I decided to leave it on autopilot and just enjoy the ride. The lights kicked on and it started to get hot, but there was an intense hot point in the small of my back. I had vision that I was laying on some kind of temperature gauge, you know like a meat thermometer to tell the lights when I was well done. I pushed the thought from my mind with a deep cleansing breathe only to notice a cracking noise. The glass underneath sounded like it was breaking from the combination of the heat and my weight. I reached behind me to turn up the radio on the wall, only to find out it was up as loud as it would go and was stuck on a country music station.
Great. So there I am, sweating, with a hot poker in my back, cracking glass underneath me and I have no idea how much time has passed. I am completely bored, uncomfortable and I plan on doing this how many more times? Suddenly, the lights turn off and the machine powers down. I fumbled with the door handle and climbed out. Spray tan HAS to be easier than this. So I throw my clothes on over the swimsuit and return to the lobby to wait.
Thirty minutes went by and finally the the bronze goddess acknowledges my existence and calls me to the spray tan booth to demonstrate what to do. There are four poses to memorize. Hit the green button and start posing, waiting for the mist cover your entire body before striking the next pose. Then stand there to dry. She leaves and I put on the shower cap and "blender cream" and then step into shower hell.
First let me explain that this contraption must keep the chemicals stored at a sub-zero temperature because that was the worst cold shower I have ever had. The spray nozzles slowly sprayed their icy contents as I tried to hold the position while shivering through the first pose and it took forever. By pose two, my teeth were chattering and I just knew I was going home with tan teeth. By pose four, I am over it, but afraid to leave the booth in the event that I turn out like "Ross" from Friends.
I had two minutes of warm air in the dryer cycle and then we did it all over again for the moisturizer round. I changed my clothes and ran outside to bask in the humidity and heat.
That night I couldn't really tell a difference, however, I did the next day! In the half lit bedroom I woke thinking, wow, that's a LOT darker, but when I turned on the lights, I discovered I was orange... like an oompa lumpa.
I walked to the kitchen to get my morning cup of joe and Tom just snickered as he asked, "How do you feel about your tan?" "It only lasts for four days," I responded and took my coffee back to bed to cry.
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