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September 02, 2005
Random Story #213: You're Supposed to Feel Good During and After a Massage, Right? I guess One out of Three Ain't Bad.
I have had three professional massages in my life. The first was so painful that I refused to get a second for a few years. I remember leaving the massage parlor on that hot afternoon thinking, "This lady can't possibly have any repeat customers." My mom had purchased me the massage as a gift; so I called her on my drive home and asked if she was mad at me. Why else would a mother subject her youngest child to an hour of sheer pain? It turns out that my mom didn’t realize that the masseuse was going to massage me in a way that would have made medieval torture chamber personnel quite proud. It is true that I could have told the masseuse that she was hurting me while she was hurting me, but I was under the impression that because she did this for a living, she probably knew what she was doing. Color me a fool. (At least I am a thinking fool!) Needless to say, when the masseuse ended our session by saying, “I hope to see you again,” I wanted to reply, “I’d go to prison before getting another massage from you, lady.”
Fast forward a few years to the winter of 2004. I decided to redeem a gift certificate for a massage right after my last final exam for the semester. When masseuse number two asked me what kind of massage I wanted, I replied, “Just make me feel good. The only other time I’ve had this done, I was in pain for two days.” The masseuse seemed somewhat baffled by my response, but clearly got the message because for half an hour, she made my body feel amazing (and no, there was no special finish involved). “Now that’s what a massage should feel like,” I thought. “I need to do this more often.”
“More often” took place at a mall in Australia.
“Would you like massage?” the Chinese woman asked after she saw me loitering around the front of her store staring at the menu of massage options. “Our prices are roughly equal to one dolla per minute. So, for thirty dolla, you get thirty minute massage."
“Oh what the hell,” I thought. “If nothing else, it will be an experience.”
I was right. It was an experience.
For about ten of the twenty-five minutes (apparently the dollar per minute pricing plan was more like one dollar for every fifty seconds), the woman massaged me with one hand while she paid her employees with the other hand. That certainly wasn’t distracting. And, I am certainly not being sarcastic right now.
Towards the end of the massage, when I was actually feeling somewhat relaxed despite only getting a one-handed rubdown for much of the time, the woman took both of her hands and opened them so that her palms were exposed. Then the woman started slapping my head repeatedly for a few minutes. She didn't lightly touch my head with her open hands; she slapped me like she was trying to rid my head of evil spirits. Why not just take a dumbbell and knock me upside the head with that?
I didn't tip the third masseuse. Not only was I a bit miffed that my massage was five minutes shorter than it was supposed to be (though I probably should have been thankful for that), I needed to spend that extra money on Advil. After all, the head can only get slapped so many times before it starts hurting on the inside and outside.
Needless to say, I'm quite curious as to how massage number four will go.
Comments
That's hilarious! When you come back to DC, I have the perfect place in Georgetown for you to try. I've been going there for for about seven years.
Posted by: Tortteasor at September 19, 2005 12:11 PM
