Volunteer torture - a lesson in spas

 

I am defeated. I feel as if I’ve fallen down a flight of stairs and then been mugged. What’s more accurate is that I climbed up in an elevator to a chamber of torture, and handed money willingly over to be assaulted.

‘Come for a massage!’ my friend coaxed. She was smiling. She looked excited.

‘It’ll be great! Get all the kinks out!’ she promised.

‘It’s authentic!’.  And I suppose it was. Calming instrumental music played at the reception desk, while a few small and seemingly harmless Thai ladies came and went into the rooms beyond. We were greeted with deceptive smiles and soothing voices, and I was at ease. Spa-like vibes surrounded us. JW settled in on the reception sofas and I gave him one last chance to join, for a romantic ‘couples massage’. Not. Best decision he ever made.

 

It’s 72 hours later and I can only now lean back against a chair without an involuntary gasp or whimper from the pain.

Thai massage, let me tell you, is NOT a joke. I’m surprised I made it out with my spine in tact. Muscles unfortunately did not survive. It’s true that most of them existed on my body unused and unappreciated. They surrounded and protected my bones and were happily living a comatose life, covered with a healthy layer of fat. But now! Oh now, they want me to know how very unhappy they are. So far out of their comfort zone that they are making my life extremely unpleasant.

It all started out ok. I was led to a dimly lit room, left with a towel and asked to undress and lie face down on the massage table. The room smelled nice – lavender maybe. I was looking forward to my relaxing hour ahead. 

The scene of the crime

 

My torturess returned and chatted briefly and lathered up with warm oil. What could go wrong?

She started to rhythmically massage my back, and then suddenly she was all elbows and knees and things inside me popped and cracked and bent in ways they were never meant to! She was on the table, a nimble frog of pain-affliction. I would cry out, moan, exclaim, admit defeat – but all to no avail.

‘You too tight!’

‘Nopainnogain!’ her mantra and constant retort.

I was a prisoner on high alert. Each second a new, more excruciating pain than the one before. Each time she would show mercy on one part of me, it would immediately be replaced by a fresh new hell somewhere else.

My mind tried frantically to make sense of it all. Could it really be this bad? It’s just me. I’m overreacting.. OOOOOOOWWWWW! Nope, definitely not overreacting. I’ve had massage before so how can this be happening?! Oh, was that Swedish massage? OOOOOOOOOWWWW! Yep, maybe that was it. How am I going to survive an hour?! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH NO!!!!

And so it went. And went. No hour has ever lasted so long. And the grand finale involved me seated, with my hands above my head – picture the ‘I’ve been arrested’ pose, a bony knee jammed into my spine, and my elbows suddenly pulled backward until my spine formed an upside down L. Bent in half! Every part of my psyche, soul and body screamed ‘NO!!!!!!’. Irreparable damage had been done. Childbirth?! Pa! Bunion surgery? Nothing on this.

And then she was gone. Probably rolling her eyes at the disheveled mess left in her wake. Off to the next conquest. And there I lay. Knowing I needed to pull what was left of myself together, get clothes on! And make it back to the lobby without sobbing or falling in a broken heap in the hallway. And then I’d have to open my purse and offer up money!

The biggest insult of all were the tip jars with the name of each torturess, sat neatly and expectantly on the counter. And my own shame forced me to comply. And red faced, swollen and utterly defeated, we left.

‘Come back again soon!’ someone called out. Over my literal dead body.