After a stressful week I thought I would treat myself to a massage today. Actually I called on Tuesday and pleaded for them to get me in as soon as possible. As soon as possible was 5 days later. I get things done, people. That's all I'm saying. If you want dinner reservations for say, next month sometime - you know who to call.
I show up at Spa Scotta early and go to their Quiet Room. I grab a water from the fridge and am almost tempted to rip open a bag of complimentary Ruffles on the table (Ruffles? Really? At the spa?) but I figured the crunching and bag-crackling would be kinda anti-quiet room of me. I'm lead back to the room, meet my masseuse, she's nice enough, it smells good, the chimey-Japanese-lute music is playing, I hear a small babbling brook in the distance. Masseuse girl leaves the room. I get naked and get under the blanket on my back. Mustering my relaxed face. Girl comes back in turns the lights down. Walks to the closet. I see her chewing something. It's not gum. Flashes through my mind Oh no she did not just finish her lunch in the breakroom. She's going to pop a mint certainly. She knows not to ruin my flow with lunch breath. No mints are popped. She's at the head of the massage table beginning with my neck and sure thing, I get a whiff of some meaty Kung Pao chicken. I immediately want my money back. Who does that!? I'm supposed to be all sniffing on some essential oils, listening to the creek, the fake birds, melting my cares away. Not this. I did not request the garlic dip. That shit belongs in the quiet room with the Ruffles, honey.
To me, this is a basic rule. Maybe I'm wrong. I remember my sister telling me a story of when she was in aestheticians school. The girls would get a break during the day. Some used this break to study, others get a drink, what have you. One lady used her break to pop to the shop next door for some ciggies and a chili-cheese dog with jalapeno's. My brain just sort of goes blank at that point. What on earth. Can you imagine the same fingers that had just held a Parliament and choked down a hot dog rubbing all up and down your face applying a clay mask? I realize beauty school offers some severely discounted treatments on a count of the learning curve but those poor folks needed to get paid for that trauma.
OK, so it wasn't ball parks and cigarettes but it wasn't lavender and it was about 6 inches from my face. She eventually moved down to the arms, legs and feet. And then thankfully I got to turn over and put my face in the donut. Wherein I made sure to sniff heartily as it was doused with eucalyptus. The damage was done. And god damn, I really wanted that massage to transport me to nirvana. I got about as far as PF Chang's.