Guest Post: Understanding Directions
This is the first time I’ve committed this horror story to print, but I was inspired by LeMare’s bravery in sharing her tale of catching shigella in the Amazon basin and JL’s assurance that my identity would never be revealed. Let this tale be a warning for anyone unfamiliar with massage rites.
It all started innocently enough. Through his banking work, one of my husband’s clients heard I was pregnant with our second child and offered me a free coupon for a 1/2 hour massage at the massage therapy clinic she owned. After months of forgetting to go in, I set an appointment, knowing I was going to see the owner at a baseball game the next week and figuring she would ask me about the massage.
When I arrived at the front desk, the receptionist said, “I realize you requested a female masseuse but she already completed her hours today. Would you be okay with a male?” My reply would have been NO had it not been for the row of male masseuses in white waiting right there. So, I said GUESS SO.
We’ll call my masseuse Frederick, who I would put at the age of my younger brother. Because it was a training clinic, the place did not have a lot of bells and whistles. It was more like triage in a hospital, with massage tables separated by shower curtains. Frederick accompanied me to our station and he said to remove my clothes, get on the table and he would be back in a few minutes.
Blame it on my distracted mind, his fuzzy instructions or this being my first massage experience, but it still pains me to think of the scene that unfolded. I followed his instructions and got on top of the sheet, waiting for my escape into relaxation. Frederick opened the curtain to discover a nude pregnant body, unhidden by the sheet that was supposed to be on top of my back side. He let out an embarrasingly loud gasp which was of course audible to the 10 other masseuses and clients within 20 feet of us and then quickly stuttered, “I meant get UNDER the sheet, m’aam.”
Turning the color of my daughter’s favorite singing dinosaur, I shoved my body beneath the sheet and wished nothing more than to escape the state. The humor was not lost on me so I was also on the verge of laughing myself into tears. To make matters worse, Frederick returned and began the massage by scaring me half to death by clapping his hands like a kung fu master and doing some sort of Eastern chant. This almost pushed me over the edge, but I kept it together long enough to get dressed, leave a tip, and get out of there. A total of four children later, I have yet to attempt a second massage as my dignity was so very threatened from that first clinic.
Entry filed under: Embarrassing Moments.