I hate it when issues cultural and racial sensitivity issues creep into the most mundane things.

Like getting your nails done, for example.

I know that it's always a mistake to write blog posts about subjects with which I am unfamiliar, but the fact is, I can't remember when I last had my nails done. Really I can't.

Now, for starters, how sexist is that? Are nails a feminist issue, or a masculist issue? Not that nails aren't needed in society, but for lack of a better expression, the "nail issue" does seem to be a cultural wedge between the sexes.

Men tend to pound and drive them, while women have them, er, "done."

Most men don't get their nails done, while most women aren't into the pounding variety of nails.

While these remarks might not have settled anything, I felt as if I had to mention the sex issue as a threshold, because this is about bias, and in discussions of bias, bias should always be disclosed. Even the slightest hint of bias. And the fact that I am male and can't remember when I last had my nails done may be a telling detail. It might evince a sort of sexism.

I'm white too. I'm also American by birth, although I'm of mixed Scandinavian ancestry. And yes, I speak English. What possible relevance might racial, ethnic or language have to do with nails, you might ask?

I wouldn't have thought anything, until I read Philadelphia Inquirer columnist Annette John-Hall's complaint about her local nail salon's insistence that its employees speak English only:

A strangely disconcerting silence filled my nail shop over the weekend.

Kim, the young woman who does my nails, explained that her mother, the shop owner, recently prohibited the manicurists from speaking Vietnamese to one another while at work, unless the conversation had something to do with customer service.

"My mom doesn't think it's professional," Kim explained when I asked about the sudden silence. "She wants our customers to feel comfortable."

Call me a cultural curiosity hound, but the intersection of languages and customs fascinates me. Sure, there are times I've convinced myself that the technicians' chattering in their native tongue has something to do with my ugly black toenail, but that's my issue, not theirs. Mostly, the shop's cross-cultural banter lent an air of conviviality that created a place of comfort for everybody. I'm not put out that they speak two languages; I envy the fact that they can.

Or am I being unfair? Is this business being culturally insensitive? Am I allowed to wonder out loud whether nail businesses are predominantly Vietnamese? Would that make this a race issue? Honestly, I don't see how. Are they discriminating against Vietnamese employees or customers? Might the preference for English be seen as a preference for white people? Again, I don't see how, as apparently the owners and employees are Vietnamese. Unless they refuse to hire or serve Vietnamese (which would be nearly impossible, if the owner and employees are Vietnamese), I just don't get it. Might it be discrimination against other minorities? I don't know whether the workers speak Spanish, but I'm assuming if they're Vietnamese and English is a second language, I doubt it. But surely, the elimination of Vietnamese for business purposes isn't discrimination against Hispanics? No; try as I might, I fail to see how this might even arguably constitute a claim of discrimination.

But Ms. John-Hall continues. She seems to think that an aroma of Geno's cheesesteak discrimination has wafted into the Vietnamese nail business:

Growing up in California, a place where César Chávez is revered, I learned a healthy respect for cultures other than my own. Streets named La Cienega and El Camino Reál are as common as Walnut and Chestnut. Fatburgers compete with tamales and dim sum as fast-food options.

The languages spoken other than English, usually heard in the homes of my Latino and Asian friends, sounded rich and inviting. I may not have understood them, but I didn't feel alienated at all. Interestingly, I identified with them. The tones and feelings they conveyed weren't that different from my own boisterous household.

But Ms. John-Hall doesn't say that the place has become dull and uninviting because of English. Instead, she says this is all about hostility to Hispanics. And bloggers are implicated!

There are numerous sites on the Internet where you can actually buy "Why in the Hell Do I Have to Press 1 for English?" T-shirts and bumper stickers.

But I say that only because I'm one of those bloggers who points at things:

Bloggers point to surveys that say more than 20 percent of callers opt to hang up rather than press 1 for English when calling their credit card and utility companies.

Do they really believe their liberties are being compromised with one extra key stroke? Of course, those so-called principles will get deleted like an unwanted voice mail once their credit card is declined or lights are turned off.

Whether that T-shirt or the "bloggers" who wear it should be scolded for an inconsistency in their "principles" depends, I guess, on a lot of things. I'm assuming the people wearing it do so because they don't like the inconvenience of having to press 1, and they dislike having to bureaucratically select their native language in their own country. Certainly it's an act of protest, but even if we assume it's a "principle" to oppose the inconvenience of pushing 1 because of what it symbolizes, is that principle really "deleted" because the protester nevertheless pushes 1 during a power emergency? Does she really expect anyone to go without power, and not report a stolen credit card because of the "principle" of not pushing 1? Wouldn't that be a little like expecting someone who opposed higher taxes to stop paying them as a matter of principle? And where would we draw the line? Suppose the Fire Department required pushing 1 to report a fire? Should "bloggers with principles" refuse to report the fire?

If that is how "principle" is to be defined, then count me as a blogger without principle!

Hell, I'm so unprincipled that I'd even yell "Fuego!" if I thought it might save someone's life. (You want principles, better find another blog!)

Don't be fooled. The hostility isn't just about immigration. It's about slowing the progress of Latinos, the fastest-growing immigrant group in the United States.

It's about fear of being outnumbered, of not being able to control who lives next door, who goes to school with your kids, speaking a language that you don't know how to speak.

And once they learn English, the fear will only grow.

Now that same fear is leading folks to believe that Spanish is in danger of becoming the nation's default language. "Pretty soon," a blogger wrote, "we'll have to press 2 for English."

Nothing at Technorati.

Zilch at Google Blogsearch.

Hey I tried. I believe in policing the blogosphere as best I can, but it's tough when they say mean things and then hide. In defense of the blogosphere, though, I do think that when reporters point at nasty things bloggers have allegedly said, they ought to do a little more pointing.

It's not as if the same writer isn't citing and quoting the other side by name, rank and organization:

The reality, says Cecilia Muñoz, vice president of policy at the National Council of La Raza, is that Latinos are learning English as fast or faster than any other immigrant group. The reality is that 80 percent of the country's Spanish-speaking population are legal residents, not illegal immigrants.

"But if I'm out and I'm talking to my mother in Spanish - not because we can't speak English, but because it's our history - people's perceptions of me are different," says Muñoz, a Detroit native. "Suddenly my American-ness is questioned."

I watched the scene Muñoz described play out the other morning at my local Wawa. A group of young Latino men walked into the convenience store and one would have thought they were the second coming of Osama bin Laden, the way people cast glances at them. The men didn't say a word, didn't speak to one another. They just quickly got their coffee and left.

One manager described a Spanish conversation program she initiated so that she and others would be able to communicate better with Spanish-speaking associates. She conducted a cost analysis, submitted a proposal, and received funding for the program.

There's a scolding conclusion:

This is being American, the land of open arms and bigheartedness, and, yes, the land of immigrants? It's sad to think that one group's unwillingness to accept another is not only practiced, but encouraged.

Maybe another choice should be offered. Press 1 for English. Press 2 for Spanish. Press 3 for ignorant.

Remember, this column was occasioned because a Vietnamese nail salon required its employees to speak English. What's their deal, anyway?

I found a remarkable, even touching story here, which describes the many years of hard work it took a Vietnamese immigrant family to build a nail business from the ground up, against fierce competition:

Our story begins like countless others: with my parents, on a boat in 1975, headed toward an American refugee camp. The United States, the land of opportunity, perhaps fully uncovered itself in 2003 with an open space behind In-N-Out Burger in a strip mall in Southern California’s posh Sherman Oaks.

Ba and Má certainly had forces working against them. Sherman Oaks already was teeming with nail salons. My mom had another full-time job. But it was their ambition that drove them.

Choosing a name for their nail venture was almost as difficult as naming their four daughters. When ideas came to us at random hours of the night, we browsed the Internet to make sure what we picked wasn’t taken. We played with words (shop or shoppe?) and concepts. In the end, we settled on Pink ‘N White Nails & Spa, a cute euphemism for a type of acrylic nails made with two different powders, something that I knew nothing about and for which my parents were still learning.

Paving Pink ‘N White’s image of “a pathway to serenity” was anything but serene. The months preceding the shop’s grand opening were a whirlwind of anticipation, anxiety and nonstop chaos. My sisters and I had school and work, so we couldn’t help out much. My father, the optimist, spent a lot of time sketching logos and imagining a peaceful haven where satisfied customers relaxed on Cloud Nine or lazy massage spa chairs. My mother, the realist, researched supplies and equipment and where to get the best deals. Dozens of trips to Ikea would be made.

My sisters and I cleaned every time we visited the shop on the weekends, shaking our heads and laughing at the busy (and very corny) decor. Wild plants stood at every corner. American flags adorned the front door, magazine stand and reception desk. My sister burned CDs with songs Ba requested; the customers did enjoy the tunes, as they stirred to the Latin pulse in their freshly scrubbed skin.

One day, the pipes broke and started spewing dirty water into the hair salon next door. Needless to say, the owner was not very happy with his new neighbors.

Anyway, it's a long article, but the family finally made it, and the kids have graduated from toiling in their parents' struggling nail salon to professional careers:

My eldest sister just received her pharmacy degree and is gaining more experience at a hospital in San Diego. The second eldest finished her master’s degree in public policy from UCLA and is now living in Los Angeles. Tamara, who is two years my senior, is in her last year as an undergraduate, studying economics. As for me, I’ve just declared psychology as my major at the University of California, Irvine, though I’m trying my hand at marketing and journalism.

It’s nice when we can all gather at Pink ‘N White and catch up with each other and with our parents, which isn’t often. It is poignant though liberating that our elders do not expect us to take over the salon as we pursue our own niches in the professional world. I think it shows how far my family has come.

Pink ‘N White is more than just a family-run business, and more than what some call the American Dream. It is the epitome of progress with struggle and the fulfillment along the way.

To say that it is the end result, a destination fulfilled, would not do the American Dream, or perhaps the Vietnamese American Dream, justice. The truth is, this venture was an opportunity, a risk, and we took it. At the end of the day, business is business. It hasn’t been easy, and it may never be, but that’s the beauty, I suppose. My parents have taught me to work hard for the things that matter, and to always remember the things that matter, like family. And for that, I owe them so much.

Our story is one in tens of thousands....

I'm sure that in trying to please their customers, immigrant Vietnamese salon owners will occasionally make mistakes. The shop-keeper of the nail salon that offended the Inquirer columnist may have made a mistake. She's a mother struggling to raise her kids in the hope that they too can achieve the American Dream. So I think I'll give her a pass.

But only because of my lack of principles!