What a Sweet Lady!

There was quite a drama at the spa yesterday afternoon.

Inside the women's lounge, we have a big screen TV on a raised platform, sort of like a stage. This platform is carpeted with the same carpet as the floor, and blends seamlessly. Next to the platform is a trashcan and a recycling bin for the plastic water bottles we offer to our guests.

My two o'clock client was a little old lady from Ontario, Canada, who was getting a half-hour shoulder, neck, and back massage. She had a laundry list of illnesses and an entire pharmacy of meds, but luckily nothing that would make a massage contra-indicated.

She walked with the aid of a cane, but was still rather spry and didn't need any assistance getting on or off the massage table. After our session, I gave her a bottle of water with the usual instructions of "drink lots of water today," and beat feet to my next client (with the half-hour sessions, there's only five minutes in between.)

This client was a male, so it wasn't until after this session that I headed back into the women's spa to get my next client. As I rounded the corner by the jacuzzi and headed into the lounge, I saw the sweet old lady sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, with blood splattered all over the front of her robe! Security was there, and the paramedics had been summoned. Apparently she had finished her water (you know, THE WATER I HAD GIVEN HER) and decided to be a good citizen and deposit the empty bottle in the recycling bin. Unfortunately, she overlooked the corner of the platform, tripped, and since she had both hands full (cane in one, bottle in the other), she fell right on her face, causing her nose to bleed copiously!

Security had everything in hand, and my next client was waiting, so I didn't hear the end of the story until it was time for me to leave that evening.

She refused to go to the hospital, so her grandsons came to the spa to wheel her back to her room. Of course the spa comped her massage, but she was still inconsolable because this fall drove the fact home that she's "an old lady". She was crying and repeating that over and over again, while her grandsons tried to comfort her. As she was being wheeled toward the elevators, she suddenly cried out, "Stop - Stop!"

She made her grandsons roll her back to the front desk, even though S., the front desk coordinator, told her that everything was taken care of, she didn't need to sign anything, etc.

My client merely said, "I need to leave a tip for Christina!"

Now THAT'S class, Folks.

Under the circumstances, of COURSE I wasn't expecting anything. Her experience at the spa was traumatic and painful, yet she still left me a tip.

What a lady.