I guess that's what I am

Yesterday, my friend treated me to a pedicure as a belated birthday gift. We went to a place that just does nails and I kind of cringe every time I go there in that I'm not a fan of being made fun of or talked about right in front of my face, but because I don't speak fluent Vietnamese, though I used to know a limited amount when I worked in California and had a lot of Asian clients; that was twenty years ago, so any knowledge I had has been eclipsed by Japanese and or parent brain.
So there we sit, four of us with feet soaking, waiting for the fifth gal to show, and when she doesn't, that initializes a buzz of resentment and frustration amongst the technicians that might be appropriate for someone late to say a wedding or court date, but not necessarily something that added to the alleged relaxing experience one is supposed to have in that environment.
How I know they were talking about us, lest anyone think I'm more paranoid than usual; was the head tilts in our direction and the use of our names, (as we had to sign in when we came), between long bombasts of dialog.
I don't really like paying people to do things for me, in terms of physical service, so already I'm in a position of discomfort, and untranslated commentary regarding, perhaps my foot size or friend's ability to be prompt, seems to not make that any easier.