The Massage

So - intent upon some "loosening up" of my rock-like neck and shoulders, today I headed for the "mall"....that obseqious and ostentatious excuse of a gathering in which humans are intended to lighten their pockets. I react violently (internally) to such places, so the thought of going into the building for something like a "massage" intended to relax was truly a challenge in a number of ways. I walked in and was instantly assaulted by the false light and sharp sound of the environment. I was also stunned at the fact that some of the people in there (mostly teenagers) appeared to actually be smiling - happy to be in there. Shudder.

Food first - I headed for the kebab counter and had what can only be described as the best kebab of my life. Surprise filtered through. A feijoa smoothie (with some gingko biloa thrown in) later and I was feeling almost at one with the place....(she says sardonically, out of the side of her mouth). Up the escalator to the massage man I went - carefully avoiding the handrails which I sensed to be utterly filthy, and visions of bubonic plague-like germsoldiers, marching up and down the shiny blackness of them, filled my mind. At the top I was tripped by an enthusiastic, fashionably dressed teenager who was even more hell bent on getting off the escalator than I was. Managing to keep my footing (with difficulty) I turned to accept an apology, only to find her well and truly gone - trotting off with her group of friends, completely immune to the fact that she had almost mortally injured me. Ah - the flippancy of youth!

Turning left, I encountered the massage area - screened off, and consisting of 4 chairs (one for each customer) and 4 massage therapists all beavering away intently at their customer's various muscles - banging, rubbing, bending, smoothing them into submission. I sat with two others, waiting for my turn. And waited - and waited. 15 minutes later, as I was seriously contemplating leaving quietly and surreptitiously, the "main massage man" approached me smiling quietly and directed me to the chair. "Pointing" to my neck and shoulders (English clearly not being a common language between us), I sat and allowed him to drape a clean white cloth around my neck and upper back. Then he was upon me - rubbing and squeezing the back of my neck with incredible and unexpected vigour. The pain brought tears to my eyes and the sign on the screen shouting "if you feel unwell, or the technique is too hard, please TELL us!" seemed portentous. But - I determined to stick it out with barely a murmur. God alone knows why. Eyes streaming, I sat and willed myself to relax - barely noticing the multitudes ascending the escalator and walking past me, occasionally glancing in the direction of the torturees on the massage seats. Pretty soon, my neck felt less painful, and the rubbing and squeezing became akin to pleasant. However, just as I felt ready to enjoy the experience, he began working on my right shoulder. Oh...my.....god....! The pain! I became light headed - and woozy - and even if I had wanted to speak I would have been incapable. I had great difficulty differentiating feelings of agony from feelings of "ticklishness" - and again, became determined to "see it through" with nary a whimper. By the time he had moved to my left shoulder the sensation was almost bearable and - truth be told - my left shoulder experience was far less extreme - almost pleasurable even! Then - with some squeezing and manipulation along my spine, and a few slaps - I was done! The relief on my face must have been obvious - but I handed over my $15 with enthusiasm...the guy had earned it in energy output alone, no matter the pain I had experienced.

Walking off toward the dreaded escalator, intent on escaping the hideousness of the "mall", I realised I felt lighter, my head clearer, and my body more present than it had in a long time. I stopped at the "bling" counter and shelved out $20 on a cheap but pretty watch that fits my wrist like a glove. $35 lighter for the entire visit, I got into my car and headed for home. The mall had certainly lightened my pocket - and the massage man had lightened my body, my load, and my demeanour. Perhaps I'll return again next weekend - if I get used to it, eventually (maybe) I will even enjoy it....? Admittedly, having someone's hands upon my person working intently to make me feel better is something worth paying for. And absolutely no strings attached.

Note to self: Head for mall again next saturday, spend $15 on a massage, and leave as quickly as possible. Ignore teenagers, and avoid escalator handrail at all costs.