Dear Creepy Masseur,
Can I call you John? I assume that’s ok since that was how you introduced yourself to me through a haze of smoke. Just wondering, John, is that typical protocol? You know, to smoke a (likely unfiltered) cigarette before shutting the door in an 8 x 8 foot room where you will be rendering services in what I have always assumed was a “healing art”?
Just so you know, that miniscule breath mint that you popped before coming into the room did about as much good as Febreeze does for that lady down the street with 7 feral cats.
You may have noticed that I didn’t say much once the massage got underway. Honestly, I was trying to tap into my far away happy place– some place with gentle breezes and NONSMOKING masseurs. I know I should have spoken up when I felt uncomfortable in the first instance, but I didn’t. I let that moment pass because you know what, John– it was a lot of work to get to the table yesterday. You have no idea, so I am going to tell you.
First, I had to go on a bunch of ridiculous dates so that I could find the “right man” and get married. Then, I had to have two babies so I could properly celebrate that annual spring ritual, Mother’s Day, at which point my husband and my kids could gift me with a 60-minute massage.
I had decided to use my massage gift certificate right before going to this insane blogging conference in NYC, since my nerves are shot to pieces, because I can’t stop reading about the “media kits” and sparkly jewelry I am supposed to be packing.
John, I don’t have a G-D media kit.
Do you know how that makes me feel?
It makes me feel like a sub-par blogger because I don’t even know what a media kit is.
But I had that massage gift certificate. And I had the will to make the appointment, arrange childcare, and then fight traffic down a very busy causeway to get to you.
John, I fought traffic to have your allegedly healing hands on my broke-down body.
Had I not kept my mouth shut during our 58-minutes together, here’s what I would have said:
1. “I asked you to concentrate on my lower back and my hamstrings, which are as tight as my fake smile right now. Please stop rubbing my face and my clavicle. Please tell me you know where my hamstrings are.”2. “Please stop rubbing my chest so close to that flimsy sheet that barely protects my breasts below. They have been through enough. Remember– I told you I was still nursing. BACK OFF THE BREAST AREA, JOHN.”
3. “I have some concerns about modesty, as well as second-hand smoke inhalation. I don’t think this is working. It’s not me, it’s you. It’s definitely you.”
4. “May I talk to the manager and also have a second servings of that delicious mango-peach juice?”
I can’t believe I tipped you after having a massage that left me feeling violated. And then I had a therapy session where all I did was beat myself up for not speaking up about YOUR INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR.
I would be willing to call it even if you reimburse me for the following expenses:
$90.oo massage + $20.00 tip
$5.00 parking at the pay box
$160.00 therapy session to recover from massage
$200.00 pain and suffering
I believe this is more than fair.
Best of luck to you, John,
The Outlaw Mama