B. got to massage the girlfriend, while I had the guy.
Our massage gets off to a rollicking start when the attendants initially can't find a robe big enough for my client. So basically, B. already has the girlfriend on the table, but we're still waiting for the dude.
And the clock's ticking...
While R. and M. (the attendants) are running around looking for a super-sized robe, R. mentions that my client is bleeding from a cut or scrape on the nape of his neck. So now I scamper off to find some vinyl gloves, since I'm allergic to latex.
Finally Dude shows up, holding his robe closed with one hand. I hustle him into the treatment room, noticing that he's wearing a heavy necklace, which I offer to remove for him. Thanks to the fact that it's as dark as a well-digger's ass in there, I can't see what the hell I'm doing, and he reaches for the necklace, while letting go of the robe... and I'm SO outta there!
And the clock's ticking...
After Dude gets situated on the table, and B. and I re-enter the room, I start my patented Christina-massage©. When I get to his left arm, he jerks his head up and blurts:
Oh, I forgot my locker key, I think it's still in the locker! (which of course has his wallet, etc. in it...)
So I break off the massage, bolt to the entrance of the men's spa (I can't go in, natch) and (softly) holler for the attendant. R. listens to my whining, gets me the key, and back I race to the side-by-side room.
I quietly open the door and try to unobtrusively slide into the room, but am foiled by a small, lidded trash can which lurks innocently next to the door. I stomp squarely on the pedal and cause the lid to crash into the wall.
Wow, right about now I'm sure the clients are wondering when they agreed to appear on the latest episode of "America's Crappiest Spas, and how to Avoid Them", but I soldier on, 'cause that's what a professional does, right?
Okay, so I take a deep breath and finally get into my zone.
The massage is rolling right along, and I notice my client scrounged up a band-aid for his boo-boo. The boo-boo isn't a cut or scrape, either. Dude is a BIG guy, sporting a fade, and right at his hair-line at the nape of his neck, the three rolls of
Thank the FSM I'm wearing gloves!
He is also very hairy, and has numerous other in-grown hairs scattered across his back...*
I continue with the massage, and as I'm working on Dude's quads, I happen to glance over at B...
I almost die trying to choke back laughter, 'cause she's massaging with one hand, while pulling out the front of her shirt with the other and blowing down the neckline!
Yes, it is HOT in that room. Good for the clients, not-so-good for the therapists.
Finally, we're almost done, I can see light at the end of the tunnel.
B.'s and my timing is very close, which isn't always the case with two very different therapists working together, and we're both massaging our clients' respective heads, necks, and shoulders. We're seated on these nifty rolling stools, which save wear and tear on our knees (NOT enough padding underneath the carpet in this joint, let me tell ya!)
I notice Dude's band-aid has come loose and is dangling on one side, probably a result of the massage oil, and I ask him if it's okay if I remove it. He assents, and I proceed to pay B. back for her earlier shirt-blowing episode...
I pull the band-aid off, and I'm wearing gloves, remember...
OF COURSE the fuckin' band-aid gets stuck to the glove! I'm whipping my right hand around like Matt G directing traffic at his town's Fall Festival, and the band-aid finally comes off, flying in a lovely arc to land thisclose to B.'s left foot.
Pay-back is truly a bitch, 'cause now it's B.'s turn to try to keep from busting a gut. Her shoulders are shaking, and it's a wonder her client doesn't notice anything.
Thankfully this concludes the massage from hell, and surprisingly enough, Dude and girlfriend are pleased.
We even get tips. Go figure.
What a way to impress your trainer, no?
*I know I've mentioned before that thick body-hair can be problematic when doing deep-tissue massage, but for the record let me state that I'm NOT grossed out by it, okay? And hair is INFINITELY preferable to stubble! This was a Swedish massage, in any case...