"Okay, it's your first day," Sheila said. "And the one with the least seniority gets Evil Editor."
"What is he, a Hobbit?" Angie asked. "How bad can it be?"
"You'll need some special equipment." Sheila dragged a trunk out from behind a curtain and opened it. "They probably didn't train you in all of this at beauty school, so let me run through it. This case contains your chisels. You'll need the hammer to drive them under his corns. This is a belt sander for buffing; plug it in over there. The jigsaw is for his nails. Don't use clippers or scissors; they snap like pretzel sticks. And that's the jackhammer. For his calluses."
"Can I take sick leave my first day?"
"You wish. Now, if he's wearing his gym shoes you'll want to wear the Hazmat suit and gas mask. What else? Ah yes, when you prepare his foot bath, add some sulfuric acid. It's the only way to get rid of his warts. Oh, and he sloughs off dead skin like a snake, so don't drain the foot bath until you've skimmed out the scales and other solids with a slotted spoon; otherwise you'll clog the pipes."
"What's that in the corner?"
"It's a medieval disemboweling hook. It's the only tool we've found that can dig under his ingrown nails."
"And the blowtorch? Is that to burn off his foot fungus?"
"It's so you can prepare him a crème brûlée. He insists on it."
Just then Evil Editor walked in, kicked off his shoes and placed his feet in the bath. Angie looked down. "But . . . your feet are so delicate, so gloriously beautiful! The feet of a god! A god who walks through fields of rose petals!"
"Thanks," EE said. "I had a long career as a foot model before I went into editing."
Angie looked over. The other pedicurists were laughing. "Gotcha!" Sheila said.