I recently got the weirdest massage of my life. Granted, I did pay only $20 for a LivingSocial hour-massage plus a free chiropractic consult, but I was still expecting
more.
My first clue that it was going to be a weird experience came when the masseuse came up front wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, and no shoes or socks. My second clue was when she asked me to sit on the massage table…then she sat on it with me, legs crossed, like we were BFFs at a slumber party gabbing about boys and bitches.
I knew this was going to be a decidedly un-luscious massage when I realized the room was totally full of outside light, there were complimentary airplane blankets on the table, and I saw this:
Just when I expected the calming sounds of the rain forest to wash over me, I instead heard Bobbie
(her name) say that she was hoping the “gremlin in her phone would cooperate” so we could listen to music. Although it only worked for about 4 minutes, and cut out at least every 20 seconds, I was quite certain this was no Enya or sensual sounds of the wild. Instead, what Bobbie was playing on her cell phone was unmistakably local rock on 98.7FM, and she sang along with every word. That is, when she was talking during the massage and calling me “doll”, “ladybug”, “darling’”, and “lady.”
When I first told her about my pinched nerve and hip/back pain, she hustled out to talk to the Chiropractor and came back with “beautiful news” – they were going to give me a free chiropractic consultation and X-rays. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that a) That was included in my Living Social deal and b) Mamacita ain’t coming back to see Bobbie or her cohorts or their beautiful news.
After only about 5 minutes into the massage, I realized that I had no reason whatsoever to believe this woman was a licensed massage therapist, and at least 10-15 reasons to think she was a lesbian who was willing to find creative ways to see my boobs. At one point she said, after admitting that it was “a little unusual”, that she was going to “slide under me”. I assumed there was a magic hole in the table and she was going to pull some maneuver like this to hit some hard to reach spots:
But instead she actually slid her hands under me and rubbed
my back while I was laying ON MY BACK. A
little unusual indeed, and also a previously unheard of physical possibility. She also started the massage my asking me if
there were any areas I didn’t really like having massaged, citing that some
people don’t like certain areas like their feet rubbed. I insisted that “I love a foot massage”, and
she must have taken me very literally because she ended up rubbing one side of
one foot, and literally did not touch the other. Now I’m physically and emotionally lopsided.
Even though the massage, which was supposed to start at 3:30, actually started at 3:45, she was still sure "that time is moving faster everyday" when she cut me off at 4:30. No B-nasty, you just shaved a whole quarter of the session off by being late and talking too much. That's not magic, that 600 seconds of time that I was just lying there wondering what the hell was going on.
My favorite part was when I gave her a $20 tip. The massage was only $20 after all so I thought I should tip generously. That was when Bobbie, the consummate professional shouted, “Wow, really? Woah!” Awkward for me, and those in the lobby surrounding us.
And although the massage was mediocre at best, I did leave feeling a little better than when I came in. Then, after crafting this blog post in my head for the whole car ride back to work, I immediately entered the lobby, slipped on a wet spot, bruised the entire outside of my foot, and made my back even worse than before Bobbie rubbed me down. Karma’s a bitch. And there’s a 99.9% chance Bobbie’s a major stoner.
My first clue that it was going to be a weird experience came when the masseuse came up front wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, and no shoes or socks. My second clue was when she asked me to sit on the massage table…then she sat on it with me, legs crossed, like we were BFFs at a slumber party gabbing about boys and bitches.
I knew this was going to be a decidedly un-luscious massage when I realized the room was totally full of outside light, there were complimentary airplane blankets on the table, and I saw this:
Just when I expected the calming sounds of the rain forest to wash over me, I instead heard Bobbie
(her name) say that she was hoping the “gremlin in her phone would cooperate” so we could listen to music. Although it only worked for about 4 minutes, and cut out at least every 20 seconds, I was quite certain this was no Enya or sensual sounds of the wild. Instead, what Bobbie was playing on her cell phone was unmistakably local rock on 98.7FM, and she sang along with every word. That is, when she was talking during the massage and calling me “doll”, “ladybug”, “darling’”, and “lady.”
When I first told her about my pinched nerve and hip/back pain, she hustled out to talk to the Chiropractor and came back with “beautiful news” – they were going to give me a free chiropractic consultation and X-rays. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that a) That was included in my Living Social deal and b) Mamacita ain’t coming back to see Bobbie or her cohorts or their beautiful news.
After only about 5 minutes into the massage, I realized that I had no reason whatsoever to believe this woman was a licensed massage therapist, and at least 10-15 reasons to think she was a lesbian who was willing to find creative ways to see my boobs. At one point she said, after admitting that it was “a little unusual”, that she was going to “slide under me”. I assumed there was a magic hole in the table and she was going to pull some maneuver like this to hit some hard to reach spots:
Even though the massage, which was supposed to start at 3:30, actually started at 3:45, she was still sure "that time is moving faster everyday" when she cut me off at 4:30. No B-nasty, you just shaved a whole quarter of the session off by being late and talking too much. That's not magic, that 600 seconds of time that I was just lying there wondering what the hell was going on.
My favorite part was when I gave her a $20 tip. The massage was only $20 after all so I thought I should tip generously. That was when Bobbie, the consummate professional shouted, “Wow, really? Woah!” Awkward for me, and those in the lobby surrounding us.
And although the massage was mediocre at best, I did leave feeling a little better than when I came in. Then, after crafting this blog post in my head for the whole car ride back to work, I immediately entered the lobby, slipped on a wet spot, bruised the entire outside of my foot, and made my back even worse than before Bobbie rubbed me down. Karma’s a bitch. And there’s a 99.9% chance Bobbie’s a major stoner.
Hilarious!
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