Ahh, massages. There's really nothing better. Laying in the dark while you get your kinks worked out, listening to the soothing hum of the muted thoughts in your head. It's quiet time and it's exactly what you need to recharge your batteries.
This weekend, Greg and I decided to finally treat ourselves to a short session of back rubs at a local neighborhood spot. I'll admit, I wasn't expecting the world from this place and if anything, we'd pay for a cheap twenty minutes and at least relieve some shoulder knots.
When you open the door to this one room palace, you realize you're standing a mere five feet from someone laying in the dark behind a curtain. The room is sectioned off into five massage areas and you are asked immediately to lower your voice as to not disturb the others. After a few minutes, Greg was first ushered into his curtained area as I sat wondering who would be the pair of soothing hands I would be sent to. The curtains part, and I see a woman leaving from her session, rolling her neck around with a look of delight. A man follows, whom she thanks and tells him she'll him the same time next week. I think, "Sweet. I've got the guy people come back for. This is going to be great."
Little did I know what would follow. I get partially undressed as instructed, and wait on the table for the Healing Guru to begin. What I soon find, is that this Healing Guru has been blessed with the most useless pair of rough, unskilled and clumsy hands I'd ever meet. He enters the curtained area demanding, "Lady, how many minutes you want?" as he yanks my hair into a pony tail causing my eyes to tear up.
He begins. So in massage world, when real professionals start, they begin at your head. This man put his hands on my shoulders and pushed all of his weight towards my lower back. I wonder, "What is this massive pressure that's holding my head down?" It's his crotch. Yes. This man is pushing his junk as hard as his junk would go against my head. I couldn't move if I wanted to. And yes, I wanted to. I think, "Whatever. It's a body part. Body parts get in the way...I guess." He moves to my left side, and while I feel his elbow so ungracefully jab what feels like a vital internal organ, I feel another surprise on my lifeless arm. His junk.
Yes. It seems his junk made its way over several parts of my massage over those twenty minutes. But if you're laying on your stomach with your arms at your side and a man you've never met before dangling his junk on it, what can you do? I mean honestly...what would you do? I can hear a person snoring beside me in their curtained area. I can hear a person across from me dressing. Had I tried to end this torture, a roomful of paying guests would hear, "Excuse me. Could you please remove your junk from my head?" It seemed more awkward and horrifying to try to stop this situation than just get through it. I tried to close my eyes and go to a happy place. And then coupled with his junk in places you don't want junk to be...he began to burp. And the burping would not stop for another ten minutes.
He cracked my back, he twisted my foot. He removed the lotion off of my back with a warm and horribly scratchy, cheap wash cloth. He pushed, he pulled, he cracked. And the finale, you ask? After he so ungracefully whipped the warmed blanket across me, he continued to hit me as hard as he could. Everywhere. You know those taps you get when you get a pedicure? I honestly don't know why they do this, but they hit you as if to increase circulation. This man beat the ever living shit out of my back, my legs, everywhere.
The timer goes off. I can finally breathe. He demands, "Lady, is good massage?" I mumble something positive if only to push him out of the tent more quickly so I can get dressed and leave. Once we reach home, I show Greg the marks this man left on my back that would continue to remain there two hours later.
From this experience, I learned something quite important: It's not as uncomfortable to ask a stranger to remove their junk from your head as it is to repair your vital organs from being tortured. Get more involved in your association with junk. It's really not worth it.
2 comments:
Did Greg get junked too?
I don't' think I've ever had a good massage from a professional. Every time I've paid for a massage it hurt and sucked.
oh dear. don't you guys know that the only real reason to have a significant other is for massages whenever you want? That way the only junk that will touch you is the junk of the person you love!
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