Massage

My mother purchased a Groupon for me for Christmas. Included in the Groupon, was a 60 minute foot and back massage. I should have known better. Last time my mother bought a Groupon we were led into the woods by a group from Deliverance to go ‘gator hunting’. What follows is a similar experience.

I arrived at the address listed for my massage. As I walk to the counter I explain that my name is Abigail and I am here for my 4:00 massage. I am greeted by a short, wide, Asian man, with teeth that could be used for keys. He seems kind. He begins typing something into his phone and raises it for me to see. He has typed into a translator, my name, and is gesturing for me to confirm. I nod and he leads me back toward the massage tables. It is clear to me that communication will be difficult as we do not speak the same language – though, this man does not seem to be the chatty type in any dialect.

He motions for me to lay on the table, to which I comply by resting face down, as this is a back massage. I am quickly reprimanded with a stern “NO!” - I immediately jump to my feet. A woman comes around the corner with a bucket of water and places it at my feet. I am comforted to know that another female is in the room. The man then slaps my pants - I am now assuming I should roll my pants and place my feet in the water- but I have been wrong before. I take the risk and move forward with my assumption. The man then places his palm on my forehead and pushes my back onto the table. A washcloth is placed over my eyes, however, my eyelids refuse to close - I feel I should remain alert. As the massage begins with my head (not part of the description) my hair is gathered behind my head. Then, in a strange twist of events, my hair is being pulled. Hard. In various directions. Interesting- I have never experienced this, I am afraid to react to the torture, as my hair is being held hostage.

My feet are the next victim. As he begins rubbing my soles, I feel a slight fingernail, sort of like a thumb nail that has not been trimmed. I was slightly disgusted but then the sharp sensation expanded.... now he is scratching my feel in long, hard, strokes with all of his finger nails. Huh. This is new. The scraping goes on for quite some time and I no longer have the top layer of skin. I am then told to “face down!” I comply. He begins pressing on my body with his entire weight. All the air is pressed out of me repeatedly. I gasp for air between compressions. As the crushing weight of his body continually rolls over mine, I hear the unmistakable sound of air completing its journey through the bowels. ‘Surely not’ I think to myself. I was wrong. The man has begun farting, loudly, as if the current torture was not enough. The only relief is that a smell did not accost me – God was looking out for me. With different pressures the man asks over and over “okay?” To which I reply “okay”. Clearly, I am not okay, however, communicating that would not only be dangerous, but I am confident the message would not be received. After a few moments he asks “okay?, okay?” I respond appropriately- I receive a swift smack in the head as he shouts “OKAY” this means the session is over.

I immediately request a trip to the restroom – there is no response. I try a different approach – crossing my legs and bouncing, I repeat “restroom” until action is taken by my torturers. I am led to a restroom in the back of the building, looking in the mirror I notice I have a vastly different hairstyle than I arrived. I walk to the counter where I am handed a cup of water and ordered to drink with the command “WATER”. I do as I am told. Blank stares greet me from behind the desk. I start to leave, but I am stopped.

The woman points to a sign “Tips are Mandatory”. I do not carry cash – ever. I ask in vain if I can write a check. The woman types something into her phone and hands it to me. A woman’s voice greets me with “Did you have a pleasant experience?” Thankfully, she speaks English, but, there is no question that she is not my supporter. I tell her that I would like to go home and request that I be able to write a check for my tip. She agrees. I pay my ransom and run out of the building. The experience is over.