Saturday, August 01, 2009
The Bad Touch
I decided to go for a massage this morning. Now normally the idea of having a stranger grope me for an hour is none too enticing for me, but after many months of horrific business travel I am having tension in places I didn't even know existed, so I thought a little stress reliever might be in order. I picked a place with a boring enough website that I felt confident no one would try to offer me a happy ending, which for me would most certainly be just an awkward ending. While I did not suffer that particular embarrassment, there were others waiting for me.
I arrived promptly for my 10 AM massage at 9:15, hoping to have a steam and a shower before the festivities began. Unfortunately, I soon found that the spa did not in fact open until 10 AM, so I wandered the streets aimlessly for forty-five minutes. I thought about stopping in at the nearby lesbian bookstore to pass the time, but they were closed for inventory, a process that is probably less sexy than it sounds. When I finally got into the locker room, I really only had time to notice the toilet that had backed up into it before my session began.
My masseur was a man with a thick German accent who practiced what I can only guess were Gestapo techniques on my poor back. He also kept shout whispering for me to relax, which had exactly the opposite of the intended effect. And I almost smothered myself in the face pillow. All in all, not exactly the relaxation I had planned.
I decided to go for a massage this morning. Now normally the idea of having a stranger grope me for an hour is none too enticing for me, but after many months of horrific business travel I am having tension in places I didn't even know existed, so I thought a little stress reliever might be in order. I picked a place with a boring enough website that I felt confident no one would try to offer me a happy ending, which for me would most certainly be just an awkward ending. While I did not suffer that particular embarrassment, there were others waiting for me.
I arrived promptly for my 10 AM massage at 9:15, hoping to have a steam and a shower before the festivities began. Unfortunately, I soon found that the spa did not in fact open until 10 AM, so I wandered the streets aimlessly for forty-five minutes. I thought about stopping in at the nearby lesbian bookstore to pass the time, but they were closed for inventory, a process that is probably less sexy than it sounds. When I finally got into the locker room, I really only had time to notice the toilet that had backed up into it before my session began.
My masseur was a man with a thick German accent who practiced what I can only guess were Gestapo techniques on my poor back. He also kept shout whispering for me to relax, which had exactly the opposite of the intended effect. And I almost smothered myself in the face pillow. All in all, not exactly the relaxation I had planned.
