Rub U The Right Way

I consider myself something of an expert in the ways of awkwardness. I don't seek it out, but I can't remember a recent social encounter that wasn't fraught with some degree of uncomfortable.

I think ranking just above "Meeting the Parents" and just below "Special Olympics" is the world of massage. Specifically, the workplace massage. Maybe you've never been fortunate enough to work somewhere that offers these treats. In my vast temping experience, (hello ladies!), I have run across it three times. Today was such a time.

Usually after a big project, the boss will bring in a masseuse who will set up in a conference room, light a candle, and whisk employees away for 15 minutes. I can't say I'm deserving of such a massage, as my day is spent staring intently at the clock and aggressively pushing the boundaries of "business casual." BUT that didn't stop me from signing up for the #2 spot.

I have had one professional massage. It was wonderful, and it was in a medical environment, which greatly lowered the potential for awkwardness. I imagine massage parlors are slightly more uncomfortable, but at least they are places where massages can reasonably be given.

The workplace massage is a whole new world. And it's neither shining, shimmering, nor entirely splendid. I walked into the pitch black conference room, and immediately felt ill at ease. The masseuse asked me to leave the door slightly ajar, so no one can file charges I guess. Luckily, the masseuse was not a dude. It was an attractive, (not hot, but certainly pretty) girl around my age, which makes things all the more tense, because it doesn't feel much different than hooking up. I began to untuck my shirt. And from there, just nothing went right:

MASSEUSE: No. No. That's OK. In the office environment, we generally just do this fully clothed.

ME: Oh, God. I know, I wasn't going to take it off. It's just...the last time, she like...reached up my shirt and stuff, so I thought...

MASSEUSE: Different companies do it differently.

ME: Yeah, I was just untucking it. Really.

MASSEUSE: If it were up to me...

ME: No, I get it. Totally.

MASSEUSE: Excellent. Won't you have a seat?

At this point, I sat in the massage chair, and the masseuse began uproariously laughing.

MASSEUSE: Wrong way.

Redfaced, I corrected myself, and smashed my face into the cushion.

MASSEUSE: OK, and what do you want me to focus on today?

MY THOUGHTS: Excuse me? This is an office, right? What am I gonna say, "Just work the taint, sweetheart. Let's focus our energy on the taint this afternoon."

ME: Um...shoulders, I guess? My back?

MASSEUSE: Mmmm, OK. And how deep do you like it?

MY THOUGHTS: Jesus Christ! How deep do I like it? How do I answer? Should I laugh? Would that make the question more or less uncomfortable!? Just answer! Just answer! I like it really hard and really deep, but I can't say that because it sounds WAY too sexual! Oh God!

ME: As deep as you can go is good.

MASSEUSE: Deep as I can go, huh? I can go pretty deep...

MY THOUGHTS: What the hell?! Are we going to make out here?

ME: OK. Great.

MASSEUSE: Let me know if it hurts.

MY THOUGHTS: Honestly, couldn't this be the script to any dominatrix porn?

She touched my shoulders. Literally, just a touch.

MASSEUSE: Oh my!

MY THOUGHTS: Oh, you like that? Yeah, I've been lifting. So what?

MASSEUSE: Patrick, you have an extremely unhealthy amount of tension in your shoulders.

ME: Oh?

MY THOUGHTS: That's why I'm here, genius!

MASSEUSE: Have you had much experience with massage?

ME: No.

MASSEUSE: Is there a reason for that?

ME: Um. Too expensive, I guess.

MASSEUSE: Well, even having a friend work on you a couple times a month would really help with this tension.

MY THOUGHTS: Yeah, that'll work. "Hey Ian! Could you come over and give me an oily rubdown tonight? Say 10ish?"

MASSEUSE: Do you have a lot of stress in your life?

MY THOUGHTS: We got fifteen minutes here, sweetheart, you're not my psychiatrist, get to touching.

ME: Yeah, I would say that I do.

MASSEUSE: Well, it shows. Let me see if I can't relieve some of it.

MY THOUGHTS: Excellent, back in porn dialogue mode.

She pushed into my back and immediately raised a billiards ball-sized knot. With her other hand she started to rub into it, hard.

MY THOUGHTS: Jesus Christ, I'm going to die! There has never been a pain like this!

MASSEUSE: Can you feel that?

ME: (through clenched teeth) Yes.

MASSEUSE: You have some serious tension spots back here. I know this must be killing you, let me know if it gets too intense.

MY THOUGHTS: Why am I enjoying this so much? I knew I liked rough back rubs, but am I enjoying this pain? Am I some sort of masochist? I really think I am, because this is truly wonderful. Am I going to start purchasing ball gags and hanging out in clubs with names like "Bound?" Why do masseuses have the worst taste in music? Usually it's some Enya shit, but this woman is actually listening to scat singing, the worst form of music in the land! How can I relax to this?

WOMAN ON STEREO: Skweeeeee dop bop doodley pop! Tiddly wah wah da wow-ow!

MASSEUSE: Do you like jazz?

MY THOUGHTS: Is that what this is? I thought maybe you had a recording of people speaking in tongues.

ME: Yes.

MASSEUSE: OK, Patrick. Do you feel that?

Again, she had brought an enormous "pain ball" to the surface of my back.

ME: Yup.

MASSEUSE: OK, this is going to hurt.

MY THOUGHTS: JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESUS!!!!!! OW! DEAR GOD! OW! AM I BLACKING OUT?! I THINK I'M BLACKING OUT! IS THIS THE END? IT CAN'T BE! I NEVER HAD A THREE-WAY! I NEVER HAD A THREE-WAY!!!!

After the back massacre, or backssacre, I was able to relax a bit as she ran her fingers up and down my arms. After that, she moved into some weird playing with my hair thing that felt absolutely phenomenal.

And I realized I had gotten an erection.

MY THOUGHTS: Dammit, why didn't I beat off this morning? I didn't do it Sunday, I knew I was going to be backed up. Well, I certainly hope my time doesn't...

MASSEUSE: OK, Patrick. Time's up. How'd that feel?

ME: Great, thank you.

MY THOUGHTS: Oh no! I'm going to have to stand up now! Will she see it? Who am I kidding, I'm Pat Fucking Walsh, of course she'll see it! Folding it back is too obvious, she's staring at you. Can I stall? How do I get rid of this? Bea Arthur going down on Roseanne. Bea Arthur going down on Roseanne. Bea Arthur going down on Roseanne....

MASSEUSE: Patrick, do you want to send in the next person?

ME: Sure.

MY THOUGHTS: Alright, it's you and me, Pork Sword.

I stood up, hunched over, and walked out as quickly as I could, hands in pockets, junior high style. If only I'd had a Trapper Keeper. Those always used to do the trick.

tags: greatest hits  

links: digg this    del.icio.us    technorati    reddit