People often get inspiring insights while driving in their car or showering. The mind wanders into uncharted territory when you’re doing an everyday chore. Some people have repetitive thought. One minor mishap can turn into a mountain by shoveling one negative thought onto another. This is what happens to me when I drink caffeine on an empty stomach.
Massaging people is akin to long drives and showering. I zone out and let my muscle memory take over, leaving me with a long stretch of road (in my case, skin). This is a bad thing for someone already living inside her head. And with caffeine, I go into over-drive. So many thoughts that come too fast for me to place in their proper category.
I had a hard day at work. Caffeine makes life more complicated than it needs to be. My first 3 clients were all deep tissue. Using all my resources, I massaged the dickens out of these lady’s.
My first client looks me over after I greet her in the tranquility room, “Do you do deep tissue?” Was the first thing out of her mouth. I pause and let my caffeinated head fill with questions. I wonder how I can answer a question like that when I don’t know what she considers to be a deep tissue massage? Maybe she’s asking if I’m any good? How can I answer that? I don’t know how to answer her.
“Uh…yeah, I think so.” I hate how passive I sound. I ponder this for a moment or two – just long enough for the caffeine to kick in to emphasize my self doubt.
“Are you sure? You don’t sound sure. I need it really deep. They said I was with Bob.”
“There is only one person I can’t go deep enough on. He’s a hairdresser, and I have a hard time with him.”
“Well I might be like him.”
This is not good. Hopped up on caffeine. Feeling jittery and anxious. Just wanting to go back to Starbucks to write my little heart out and here I am faced with a difficult customer.
“I’m sorry, but I’m the only one available at the moment. Most everyone tells me I go deep enough.”
“Okay, we’ll see.”
I start massaging her back. The deeper I go, the more I tremble.
“I drank an ice coffee today, so I may shake a little. It’s not because I’m straining myself, it’s just the caffeine.”
“Oh, ok, good.” She seemed genuinely relieved to hear this. And it was the truth. I shake when I’m under the influence of caffeine.
My fingers started giving out. My forearms felt like Popeye’s. I had a cartoon image of a steam engine inside my flexed bicep. But I made it through.
“You give a great deep massage. I need to get your card before I leave.” My caffeinated ears don’t fully believe her. I don’t allow myself to breath in relief, I don’t trust a confidence boost when it hits me in the face.
My second client was a woman I massaged before. She requested me, so she must like me.
My third client was the same as the first. She glanced me up and down, saw my sweet demeanor, my medium built stature and assumed I give a crappy massage.
I started massaging her back firmly at first to assess the tissue and warm it up.
“Yes you are tight.”
“Let me know if I go too deep.”
“Okay, but that won’t be a problem.”
I buckle down in my stance. Sink in low to let my body weight do all the work. I lean in at just the right angle for maximum depth and effectiveness. My elbow slowly eeks its way up the side of her spine. Slow, deliberate, mindful. The stroke looks so good that I can almost feel it being done on myself. My mouth waters, it must feel so good. I had her moaning by the end of the massage.
“Uhhhh, that’s nice.” “Ahhhh that’s my spot.” “Ohhhhhh so good.”
I love surprising people.
My nerves were still shot after that. Caffeine kills my confidence.
My fourth client was a sweet old lady visiting from California. It was my pleasure to massage her. But my mind still wandered into the dark recesses.
I hate that I have to please bitchy women. I hate that I want to please them. Why do I need their approval? To be considered on their level? Is it purely for the appreciation?
No, it’s none of those.
They are the one’s not on my level. And as far as appreciation goes; you can bust your ass all you want and the true bitch won’t know or care. The truth to why I want to give those ho’s a decent massage is not to impress them. It’s my quiet shining dignity that’s telling them, ‘fuck you, I am good.’
……………..or maybe it’s my strong work ethic.