You see, for years, I thought I liked massages. In fact, I used to clean my friend’s house so she would massage me. Yes, she is a licensed massage therapist, so it’s not as weird as it sounds. Back then, I enjoyed the massages, and I didn’t even worry about being naked. I always joked with her that she had seen my naked butt and I had seen her dirty house – We were even.
Last year in Antigua, I had the massage from you know where. I’m pretty sure the therapist’s LMT after her name stood for “Licensed for Misery and Torment.” You can read about that experience HERE if you so dare. I’m not going back and reading it. It’s too painful to relive.
So, when I had to schedule a massage here in St. Lucia, I put the Torturer out of my mind. Instead, I remembered my friend who had friendly hands. (Still just doesn’t sound right, does it?) This time would be better. I just knew it. We were walking by the spa the other day here at the resort, and two staff members were standing there. They were obviously desperate for business at the spa, because they were trying to recruit their next victims, er, I mean clients.
The one lady, we’ll just call her “Creepy,” asked me if I had booked my massage yet. Knowing I had to book one (had to…it’s a hard job), I told her I had not but was interested. She told me about a special on Wednesdays when I could get 80 minutes of massage for the price of 50. “Why not?” I thought, “I love massages.” So, I booked with Creepy, knowing she was just the staff member who was recruiting suckers, oops, I mean, patrons. I must admit that, while Creepy was booking my appointment, I really hoped she would not be the one doing the massage. She had long, skinny fingers and was just creepy, thus the name.
Yesterday, the day before my 80 minute massage, I started having flashbacks to my experience in Antigua. Then, I decided just to put that out of my head. This one would be better. I would be so relaxed.
So, today was the big day. I headed to the spa and was led to the locker room. The receptionist told me to disrobe to my comfort level. I considered just putting the robe over my clothes but figured that would make me memorable. I really don’t like being naked in front of other people, so shorts and a shirt were just about my comfort level. I bit the bullet, though, and got naked. Luckily, the robe was big enough to cover everything that needed covering. Otherwise, I KNOW I would have been memorable.
Anywho, I walked out of the locker room and went to obediently wait where I had been told to wait. I am, after all, nothing if not obedient. Around the corner came my massage therapist, and it was, you guessed it, Creepy. (Oh come on. You had to see that one coming.)
So, Creepy led me to a room and told me to take off my robe. She said I could lie face down on the table and cover with the sheet. Thank goodness I had a sheet this time instead of the little strip of towel I was given in Antigua. “See?” I thought, “This time will be better. You love massages, don’t you?” I didn’t answer.
Creepy came in and started the massage. I had told her she could spend the entire 80 minutes on my head and face if she wanted to. Apparently, she thought I was kidding. She started on my back. So far, so good. Then, she worked on my back some more. And some more. And some more. She began massaging my back with her forearms and elbows. I’m pretty sure her knee was involved there somewhere. There are two spots on my lower back that are always tender and sore. I pointed these out to her and told her I was pretty sure they were from being numbed while having babies. (Two tender spots for the rest of my life are so completely worth the numbing during labor, by the way…in case you wondered.) I think it was my mistake to point out these areas to Creepy, because I think at one point, she was digging her creepy fingers into the spots. Actually, it felt like she was pushing down to the depths of my soul. I thought I might have to come off the table, but there was the whole naked issue.
Speaking of naked, I was becoming more and more naked as the massage went along. The sheet kept getting pushed down further and further. It started at the middle of my lower back. By the end, it was half past crack. For a good 10 minutes, I begged this woman in my mind, “Please, Creepy, cover my butt crack.”
“How does that feel?” she said. “Great,” I said (cover my butt.)
“Is the pressure good?” “Sure. It’s fine.” (I’m dying here. Cover my crack.)
“Is the temperature in the room comfortable?” “Yep.” (Lady, I’ll pay you five bucks to cover it up.)
“Are you enjoying this?” “Oh yeah.” (NO! Cover my butt!)
Finally, Creepy finished with my back and covered it up with the sheet. The angels in heaven rejoiced. Okay, maybe they didn’t, but I heard them in my mind anyway.
Next, Creepy started on my legs. She started with the left side. As she rubbed, I began to realize I was really in pain. My legs are sensitive, and I came to realize the left one was more sensitive. I was dying, yet I didn’t say anything. Why? You ask. I have no idea, other than the fact that I thought it was about to be over. I was wrong.
Finally, Creepy finished with my left leg and moved on to my right. “Oh good,” I thought, “My right one won’t be so sensitive.” As she worked I realized maybe it was the right side that was the sensitive one. Holy cow! This woman wanted me dead. Still, I said nothing and just suffered in pain. Call me a martyr.
When Creepy finished, she dug her creepy fingers into the bottoms of my feet, and I really thought I was going to kick her in the head. I managed to control myself.
Creepy moved up to my head. Finally. It was time for my favorite part. She spent 2 minutes there and then said it was time for me to roll over. Now, for those of you who’ve never had massage, let me explain. The rolling over is the worst part. Here you are, naked on a table, and your back has locked up from being on your stomach for an extended period of time. The therapist holds the sheet up over her face and tells you to roll over. It sounds all private and great, but usually, as was the case today, there is a mirror on the other side of you. If the therapist decides to take a peek, she’ll get to see the full shebang. Today, I chose to believe Creepy didn’t look. I didn’t hear snickering or gagging, so I don’t think she did.
For the rest of the massage, I kept trying to find pleasant parts. There really weren’t any. It wasn’t that she was a bad massage therapist. It was that I have, apparently, grown grouchy in my old age. A good rule of thumb is, just don’t touch me, and I’ll be happy.
Now that I’ve admitted that I don’t like massages, I feel so free! My other choice for my mystery shopping assignment when doing resorts is to have a facial. I’ve always avoided this because facials make me break out. However, I had about 80 minutes to think about it today, and I’ve decided it’s worth it. At least with a facial, they spend a lot of time massaging your face and head. That’s all I really wanted anyway! So, next time I take a trip to a resort, if I come back looking like a walking zit, you’ll know why. It was all to avoid the massage. -Al