All Massages Are Not The Same

Today’s post is from a Shoe: Untied contributor, Anna Rinehart. Anna is a friend and former student of mine. Enjoy . . .

It was a Thursday, late winter. I was sick as a dog, body aches from the tip of my hair to my smallest pinky toe. I thought that was the worst part of my day. Oh no, no that was not the worst of my day. Feeling so poor I thought a massage was in order but I didn’t want to travel far. With my mad Google foo, I searched “massage” near me. Woohoo! Just .2 miles from my home in the little town of old Worthington, a little tan house came up.

Day was looking up.

I called, and the nice woman said yes, they could take me in 30-minutes. I need time to enhance my homeless look enough to go .2 miles. Wallet and keys in hand, I made my way to the cute little tan house. The tiny woman greeted me and we made our way to the room, after I paid my bill (Red Flag #1). She left me in the room to get ready. On the table was a flat sheet and a towel, not small enough to call a hand towel, but not large enough to call a bath towel (Red Flag #2). I thought to myself that Kenneth’s gives me a nice sheet and warm cover, but being sick, I moved on. I just wanted to lay down (lie down). Too sick for grammar tests.

I got on the table and took the 12×24 inch terry cloth rag to cover my lady bits. The lady knocks and enters, only to yell at me to get on stomach, get on stomach. I strategically cover myself with the towel while, turning over and avoiding a crash to the floor.

It only gets worse from here.

She gives me a massage that I can only compare to being tenderized like a tough piece of meat, and that just covers the upper back. At this point I get to laughing or maybe crying, face down in the hole in the table. I am not sure what to do. Kenneth’s wouldn’t manhandle me like this. This goes on for sooo long, really only a few minutes but in my mind, eternity. 

Then she gets up and walks around the table, uses her Chuck Norris move to spread my legs and plant herself between them, ON THE TABLE!

RED FLAG!!

At this point my body is shaking with full on laughter. What do I do? I was paralyzed with discomfort, embarrassment, and laughter. 

Not only is she on the table but then, then . . . she does it! Where normal massage services would tuck my towel in the top of my big girl pants, she jerks them down. Keep in mind I am greased up like a pig. The balance of the massage I waiver between fear and laughter. Fear her hands will slip, and complete hilarity that I am in this situation. 

Finally, it ends. She leaves the room. I’m more tense now than when I arrived. I stand up, turn to pick up my clothes, when I see the sign:

Well, this would have been good information to know before I got on the table.

Later, I find out that this place is on a map of Columbus for massage parlors . . .