WHAT: Tanning Salon Refuses Service To A Woman, Telling Her She's Too Fat (And No, She Can't Have a Refund Either)

Publish date:
April 26, 2013
being fat all over the internet, tanning, news

I’m fat, and I don’t tan.

This is not because I have some issue revealing my mostly-nude form. (Exhibit: every visit I’ve paid to the Korean day spa.) It also has zero to do with a flaw in my melanin. No sirree bob, I’ll thank you to know my melanin is fine*. (Apparently the line you can’t cross with me is throwing shade at the efficacy of my biological processes.)

I guess I should clarify -- I’m fat, and I don’t “tan”. As far as I know, my fatness does not hinder my ability to darken when my melanin is oxidized with an assist courtesy of some good ol’ UV rays.

I don’t “tan”** by choice. Because I fear death, and also am vain, I lather myself daily in SPF of the highest order. Additionally, I refuse to indulge in activities like “sunning myself on the deck” or such shocking frivolities as “wearing short sleeves basically ever” because I am already riddled with moles.

In terms of constant vigilance against the sun and her demon rays, I stop just shy of carrying a parasol around. But even this is only because of the aforementioned vanity and a surety that I lack the required sartorial panache to pull off a parasol.

That said, if I ever did decide to indulge in a dreamy base coat attained by way of a UV blasting tube, that is my prerogative, fat or no.

I would go to the tanning salon, boldly displaying my fish-belly white everything***. I would hand the proprietors my dollars either before or afterwards (like I said, I don’t do this, so I really don’t know how it works) and then, after basting myself in a tincture of iodine and sunflower oil, I would fry myself into sweet, sweet, tanned oblivion.

Actually I would probably just get a spray tan, but whatever.

The point is this - if I wanted to go and get a spa treatment of any sort, I would go do it. I would go because I wanted to, and I would expect to pay for it, and I might come out of the establishment fuming and muttering baseless threats about Yelp reviews (I almost don’t know how to use Yelp) but it would not cross my mind to not go because as a fattie, I might not be served.

And yet, this is exactly what happened to one woman, who, after buying a tanning package from a salon, and using exactly one visit, was told she she had broken a machine, wasn’t welcome back, and wouldn’t get a refund.

I mean guys. Come on, tanning store cornholes! There is literally more of me to tan! Besides, have we forgotten the myth that tans make you look skinnier? If anything tanning salons should be running specials for girthier ladies, milking our fear and desperation for everything it’s worth just to keep us coming back and to keep themselves in business.

If I went to get a pedicure, something I do fairly regularly because my feet are like if a naked mole rat on steroids and a hobbit had a calloused baby, and they were like, “No way, you are too fat to polish and also we will not give you your money back,” I’d probably go medieval on their asses and wind up in jail. I am too pretty for jail and I’d probably stab someone in there because I get mad sometimes and am overly adaptable.

What I’m saying is that discrimination leads to lady-jail deaths by shanking. THANKS AMERICA.

The really galling part about the story is that they refused to refund her purchase after denying her a service. Their claim that she broke their machine is exceptionally heinous, but if you’re the owner of the tanning place and you’ve bought the equipment, and you don’t have an existing policy regarding weight limits on the machines (WHICH WOULD BE A DIFFERENT KIND OF BULLSHIT) that doesn’t mean I, as the customer, need to pay for the fact that you are a moldy dildo.

Now if you’ll excuse me -- I’ve got some spa services to indulge in and a prison fantasies to entertain.****


* Or so they tell me, wiiiink!

** Please picture me doing tiny t-rex hands for every instance of quotes-usage employed herein.

*** Sexy, I know. I refer to it as my moon tan....but only when speaking drunkenly to lovers, holla!

**** Shawshank Redemption. I’m Andy Dufresne, and I’ve been naaaaaughty.