The small but burley Asian masseur then proceeded
to drape the paper-thin sheet over my body……including my whole head. I was
freezing as the room was unusually cold, but thinking it would probably warm up, I simply proceeded with my laundry list of ailments including a brief surgical history and mention of my persistent debilitating shoulder pain that has required many visits to doctors and physical therapists. 'Good luck', I thought. I really am a mess...
Suddenly, he began rapid and deep breathing as if he was
hyperventilating, and then roughly plunked his hands on the sheet covering my cold body, while mumbling something about my scoliosis and twisted hips.
“You breathe!” he demanded and then demonstrated
with some more, loud repetitive panting. He sounded like a horse, and I blew
out tentatively in order to show him that I was paying attention and could
follow directions. “That good! Awesome!” (Horse sound. Horse sound. Horse
sound). I tried not to laugh out loud.
He continued to work through the tissue covering
using long dramatic rubbing motions that felt more like he was washing clothes
on a washboard than working on tension in my apparently crooked back. Often,
he had to stop to adjust the gauzy sheet back over my head as it was repeatedly
forced down with his bizarre technique, and I started feeling strangely
corpse-like with my stiff, cold head and body hidden under a shroud. I waited
for the toe tag…..
I suppose I wasn’t breathing right, because I began
feeling a little lightheaded. Thinking I needed a good hit of oxygen, I tried
to take a deep breath but noticed that the intense pressure of my tormentor’s hand
on my back compressed my rib cage against the table in such a way that made it
difficult for me to suck in a sufficient amount of air. I made a noise that
sounded a lot like a desperate wheeze, and then I coughed….and coughed….and
sputtered…and coughed again.
“You blocked in you lung”, he said. “You need
relax. Let go.” he chimed and then let out some more of those frantic horse sounding noises.
“I’m blocked in my lung because you’re squashing
me.” I said.
“I feel block. Breathe. Good. That good. Awesome!”
he continued as if he hadn’t heard my pleas for release. Did he know he was
suffocating me….and about to break a rib? At this point, the ‘massage’ through the sheet was
starting to get irritating and I was convinced I would have chafe marks or
sheet-burn from the unreasonable friction.
“That’s a little too rough”, I
said.
“You feel the buzz? Energy? Good! Ohh. Ahh. That
good. ”
He then lifted the sheet, fanning extra cold air
on my already chilly torso and then grabbed for the oil. ‘There is no ‘buzz’,
I thought disappointed, but imagined how a Martini with extra olives could take
care of that. “Is this only 45 minutes?” I asked. “’…’cause I have to meet my
friend in the lounge.”
Folding the sheet down to expose my stiffened
back, he tipped the bottle of massage oil upside down so that globs of the
greasy stuff landed in what felt like an icy Frisbee size puddle on my back.
Aren’t they supposed to heat that stuff?
“That’s cold!” I complained, raising my head and
peeking around at him.
“That oil.”
he said proudly, dousing me some more.
‘Jesus’,
I thought as he moved the oil around,
clogging absolutely every pore I have. ‘Can
I fake an illness and ask to leave? How the hell do I get out of this unbelievably
un-relaxing and unsettling experience? What’s next? And why is he pushing on
my bum like that?’
“You
shoulder pain is from you buttock!” He
said as if he had heard my thoughts. “
Relax. Awesome. Ahhh. Yessss. Ooooooh. ”
Just then he quickly jumped around to my feet and
started manipulating them in ways I didn’t think feet should move. Suddenly he
snapped my toes so that all of them cracked and crunched at the same time. The
sound was unnerving and I was sure the people in the next room had heard it.
“My god!” I screamed.
“Hear that? Wow. You hear? That good. Awesome. Feet cold, block
lung, buttock and shoulder pain!” he said huffing sadistically.
He then moved back to my shoulders and back and
poured even more cold oil onto me. What the hell?! Was he about to Wok
something? I’d be slithering around for a week!
He continued to breathe excitedly, working himself
into some loud irregular racket that disturbingly sounded a lot like he was
involved in some strange tantric ritual. I found the experience to be quite
awkward and creepy and I half expected him to have to excuse himself….ew. Was
massage a bizarre way for the freak gets his jollies? Does the spa know what
happens in his cold little room? For god’s sake, had anyone who works there ever
had one of these outlandish experiences? Was this normal? What time was it?
He asked me to flip over.
Again, the gauzy film was adjusted over me,
tucked under my frigid feet and placed over my face. I thought of corpses and death
again, but this time that seemed almost comforting, as my captor moved to my
neck and sat by the top of my greasy head.
“Don’t crack it, adjust it in any way or
over-manipulate it.” I stated. “I have neck problems too.”
He stood up, pulled the veil down from my face
and then stood over me.
“You have neck and shoulder problems because you
like chopstick”.
“Ya. Well I’m a lot less of a chopstick when I’m
warm and not distressed.”
“What stress you?”
“This is not a relaxing massage….”
He cut me off. “For you, no pain, no gain. You
blocked in chest and buttock. I can give you soft massage, but that is waste
of time. You need to stretch and open up.”
“Um…I’m actually supper flexible, which is part of
my 'loosey goosey' joint problems.” I said, defending myself. “My shoulders are
tight from surgery. There is hardware in there to hold them in their sockets!
There are anchors and pins in there!”
“You don’t need surgery. Yoga! No such thing as
too flexible. You not! You need r e l a x....” Obviously he didn't know I was a crazed housewife and mother.
“I’ll work on it...at the bar. This chopstick is
out of here!” I said, as I jumped off the table and headed out the door.
Oddly, I’ve been pain-free ever since…hmmm.
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