Thoughts from the table (part 2)

I hesitate to pen type up my emotions for a couple reasons.  One is that I don't want to come off as an elitist that has a soft life.  And another is that I don't want to ever appear to be a complainer.  But today's experience merits mentioning.

I had a massage.  Not just any massage.  A very, very bad massage.  No, not bad in that way.  That would be a different kind of post.

So yesterday I felt some knots building.  I also knew I had a couple massages waiting because of my membership.  So I called and asked who was available for deep tissue on just the back.  Oh!  Patty is available tomorrow at 10:30.  Great!  That should work splendid.  

I walk in and meet Patty.  She's a slender lady with a ready smile and about my age and size.  I immediately feel at ease and am looking forward to fifty minutes of zoning out.  Drooling as I lie face down feeling the knots disappear from my upper back.  Listening to calming music while my mind slowly sails far away into an oblivious state of relaxation.  She warms up the table and gets to work.  Or didn't.

She lightly touches my neck.  Lightly rubs my shoulder.  Very lightly runs her hands down my spine.  I'm thinking ok, we're just getting started here and this is her style.  Except the very light touches never turn into anything more but very light touches.  I'm getting frustrated.  I start to tense up.  The more I tense, the lighter she rubs.  The lighter she rubs, the more frustrated I feel and I'm about ready to sit up and yell, 'STOP!  I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE'.  It was worse than getting a massage.  You want her to dig deeper.  Work on those tired old aching middle-age muscles and she continually dances her light fingertips across the skin.  AAARRRGGGHHH!  I'm not a complainer.  Or so I like to think.  About 20 minutes into this misery, I finally can't take it.  'Could you please work just a little harder?  I feel like nothing is getting accomplished.'.  She says, 'you seem very tense and so I thought I would work very lightly'.  Really?  I clearly ask for deep tissue.  I'm known for always having massage therapists that work the ba-jeebers out of my back.  And Patty tickles my backbone (and certainly not my funny bone).

Lucky the 50 minutes finally passed.  She says flatly, 'well you're all done...'.  You bet I am.  With you and this massage and this perfectly good waste of an hour of my morning.  But I didn't tell her that.  I smiled warmly and accepted her glass of cool water and got out of there with my knots in tow.

So hopefully, next time is better.  It certainly couldn't be worse!

And no, I try not to complain.  Just this once.  Can you give me a pass this time?