I’m sick again. I’m laying in bed eating wonton soup and sipping on tea. I was battling the onset of a cold for the past four days, but blamed my constant coughing and sneezing on allergies.
I’ve been going out and working and not eating or drinking water – I’ve been bad. And now here I am laying in bed indisposed.
Friday after work, I went to Brie’s birthday party. My throat was sore and scratchy. I woke up at 6:30 the next day to go to work. I was coughing a lot. I was coughing during massages and told my clients I had allergies.
When I held in a cough, it would make me want to sneeze. When I needed to sneeze, I would close my eyes and pucker my face. The face I made looked like I had just tasted something rancid. I would do my massages like that. I told myself that as long as I kept my face scrunched up, I wouldn’t sneeze or cough. I gave a couple’s massage with my face like that. If the other therapist in the room saw me, she would’ve seen me puckering my face for no apparant reason other than to look stupid.
Three of my clients were requests, three of them weren’t.
Five of the six clients I had yesterday were all outstanding people, My sixth client, not so much. It was quite possibly the worse massage I had given. Let me tell you why.
The guy was a scruffy 60-year-old. He talked loudly and sounded immature, but he wasn’t dumb. These clients are not my cup of tea. The confident types who lived through it all, and are still looking for more hee-haw’s. He fit the profile of someone who would sexualize the massage. Not only did he fit the description, but I’m also a bit of a mind-reader, and I just knew. And I also knew that he wouldn’t do anything bad, or sinfully dejectable, but he will test my boundaries. I discovered all this before any body parts hit the table. Damn I’m good.
Me – “Are there any area’s troubling you that I should focus on?”
Him – “No, not really. I just want it deep and thorough.”
He said it with a boyish grin. His smile, I can see would’ve been charming 20 years ago, winning over the hearts of girls, gaining admirer’s. Now it seemed fruitless to throw it about. Especially with someone who know’s better.
So there he was on my table with his clothes off.
Him – “You can massage anything that you feel comfortable with.”
Me – “Okay.”
Him – “Do I need to have the blanket on?”
Me – “No, the blanket can come off.”
I was speaking of the top blanket. The sheet underneath should have been a no brainer (we are in Connecticut), but he kicked off both the sheet and the blanket. “Damn, why didn’t I catch that one?” I thought to myself. He was sneekier than I thought.
Me – “Oh no, no. The sheet has to stay on. The blanket off, sheet on.”
I quickly covered him back up.
Him – “Oh okay. Sorry, I haven’t had a massage in seven years. I want to really experience it. I want the full monty.”
He knew that comment could be interpreted in different ways. Most of what he said could have been interpreted in different ways. That’s what these types do – manipulate and test. I didn’t know how to respond to him, so instead I said,
Me – “Just to warn you, my allergies have been acting up today, so I may cough a little, or clear my throat during the massage. But I’m not sick, I just have allergies.”
I felt comfortable telling him lies. The moral standard bar was set so low, that I actually felt at ease with him – I could have told him anything without being judged.
Him – “That’s okay, I have the same thing you got. My nose keeps drippin’.”
He wasn’t kidding. He had the sniffles, but I thought it was more likely from drugs.
I proceeded to massage him, unrattled and unphased by his personality. I was too sick and tired to let him get to me anyway, plus I’ve dealt with people like him before and knew what to expect. Nothing happens. They don’t say/do anything hurtful or offensive. They just get their massage, say thanks, and leave. He seemed like a child to me, and I had to keep him in line.
My Dad just bought me some NyQuil. Score! Mellie likey NyQuil.
He didn’t do anything and nothing happened, except of course it looked like he was sprouting a semi-morning glory hidden under the sheet when I turned him over. This doesn’t phase me, and I was half expecting it.
But what DID happen, as predicted and warned, was an explosion of cough’s. I coughed all over his leg, and then told him I had to sneeze.
Him – “Do you have water in here.?”
Me – “No, it will go away.”
It went away, but came back full throttle ten minutes later.
Me – “I’ll be right back.”
I left the room, drank water and popped in one of Trish’s cough drops I snagged from her locker and went back into the room.
Shortly after, one of my co-workers opened the door on us (she needed my room and thought I was done because she seen me in the hall).
When the massage was over, he thanked me and said he hopes that everything works out for me. He wasn’t so bad afterall. I soppose saying it was the worst massage I ever gave is slightly embellishing. I’m just not used to numerous things going wrong in a massage.
I went to meet a co-worker after work at La Boca, a mexican restaurant in Middletown. She invited a few of her friends, who were all awesome, and we go out after dinner to dance.
The sole purpose of me going to La Boca was to eat a lot and bring home a lot of food. I had no interest in talking to people. I was tired, felt like crap, but was extraordinarily hungry – famished! I was so hungry that I could have eaten an entire plate of chicken assholes and still be hungry.
Another co-worker joins us. She was telling me juicy gossip as I sucked down two pint size margarita’s and a beer. I couldn’t respond back because I coughed every time I talked, and talking only made my throat worse. So I sat there quietly listening with a straw in my mouth and my eyes conveying “please tell me more!”
NyQuil is kicking in. I can’t write coherently anymore.