First, I got a "consultation," where I had to describe any medical problems/medication I had/have, and what kind of therapy I was seeking. My response was basically: do whatever you have to do to fix my neck. At this point, in the consultation room, my masseuse came in. He looked possibly younger than me (?!) but his arms were huge. The kind of guy where, if I were a guy, I would be intimidated. And he looked like a member of the Lopez family (Mario Lopez, that is).
The next step was hard. After getting in the room itself, the reality of the situation hit me: I'm paying someone to touch me. A lot. I'm not a very touchy person--not a big hugger, cuddler, or snuggler--with anyone I'm not dating or related to (or sober with). So it was weird.
But not that weird, because hey, what's the worst that could happen? Nothing? I'm not flattering myself when I say the thought of molestation crossed my mind, because I work with people (lawyers) who represent sexual harassment cases and it can happen to literally anyone. Not saying I'm hotter than an elderly man, but if things happen to an elderly man at the dentist, things can happen to a 25-year-old girl at the massage parlor. But so here's the crazy part: the masseuse is a professional. And the chances of his being any of the things that could make massage problematic as a career are so, so, so tiny (For every proctologist that's a sex addict, there are 5 million mentally healthy proctologists...for example) SO I was able to relax.
And it was the bomb! I have no idea how back muscles are structured or layered, but it was obvious I was the only one in the room who didn't. I wish I could say more, but I wasn't able to see anything, and it'd be boring if I tried to think of different ways to say "feels good...relaxing...therapeutic." So just take my word for it: worth it.
Here's a note about something weird, though: I noticed little signs everywhere about tipping guidelines: $10 if it was just "ok," $20 if it was "good," and $25 if it was "excellent." I was already paying $50 for the hour. Are they not compensating their masseuses enough? Why the need for huge tips? Stuff like this makes me doubt the legitimacy of the business. And I want to know why such an enormous tip is necessary.
The relaxing effects didn't last long, unfortunately, because as I pulled out of the parking lot, smoke and a burning-plastic smell began to seep out from the hood of my car. Crazily enough, I was on my way to get an oil change anyway, but it was suddenly turning into a much more stressful and difficult ordeal. Would I still be able to read magazines in the waiting room at Jiffy Lube? No. But did I lose my cool? No. Did I freak out when I had to risk my life driving to my mechanic? And find out what an expensive repair I'd need? No.
So, again, in sum: it was worth it, it didn't really weird me out, and it wasn't that painful the next day. Just about as painful as a tricky yoga class, which is how I got there in the first place.
No comments:
Post a Comment