Gabe, the pretty boy, is known for pampering himself. Whether that's carrying on a friendship with his botox injector just to get discounts or grabbing a last-minute massage because someone cancelled at the last minute and the spa offered a discount for a short-notice session, Gabe will do anything to spoil himself (on the cheap).
So, how has that random massage thing worked out for Gabey?
It all started with a knot. A particularly nasty knot lodged firmly in Gabe's upper back, a persistent reminder of that ill-advised attempt to assemble a flat-pack bookshelf. Desperate for relief, Gabe booked a massage at a new spa here in Los Angeles.
Gabe arrived early, thinking there would be a patient intake form to fill out (where are you experiencing pain?, etc.). There was. He filled it out and was shown to the treatment room. He disrobed and assumed the face-down position. (Does it always feel like they give you too much time to undress? It seems like you're lying there for five minutes before they come back in the room. It takes 30 seconds to get undressed! Anyhow...)
The masseuse did the soft double-knock on the door before entering the room. Gabe likes to test his massage folks by seeing if they can tell where he's feeling pain or discomfort. He said he was mostly there for a relaxation massage, though his back felt tight. With that, she got to work.
The room wasn't equipped with relaxing music or any kind of mood lighting. It was fully lit and every person walking by or talking within 10 feet could be heard loud and clear. It was impossible for Gabe to relax, in fact, he felt himself tensing up because of the frustrating distractions.
As the large woman worked Gabe's shoulders, his attention soon turned to a new noise: her nose whistling and somewhat wheezing as she breathed. Did she have a cold? If she did, should she be at work touching people? Should he say something? Should he ask for someone else? Gabe's body stiffened as he became grossed out by the thoughts.
Within 10 minutes (it's hard to measure time during a massage, so this is a guess), the woman's vibrating cellphone constantly buzzed and caught her attention because she continued massaging with one hand to, presumably, check her phone with the other.
Recap: talking, whistling, wheezing, buzzing.
Every time she checked in on Gabe, she'd clear her throat before speaking -- which turned into a hacking cough... without covering her mouth because her hands were on his body. She noted his body was tense/tight and asked how long it'd been that way. Tempted to say, "Oh, about 10 minutes or so," Gabe said it'd been a while since his last massage.
As she worked from head to toe and back up to the head, she navigated around the massage table, each time bumping it and giving Gabe's body a startling shake.
At the halfway mark when she asked him to flip over, Gabe instantly felt gross at the idea of exposing his nose and mouth to her germs and nastiness. Trying to limit his breathing so as not to intake contaminated air, Gabe held his breath as long as he could while closing his eyes and hoping it would be over sooner than later.
She tried to make conversation while Gabe was facing the ceiling but in an effort to keep his mouth closed as much as possible, he only responded with one-word answers or noises for yes and no.
Suddenly, she stopped massaging. Gabe thought the session was over. He would be free in a matter of moments. Get the hell outta here, gross be-otch! Turns out it was so she could let out a sneeze. Cue the snorting and sniffling after.
Recap: talking, whistling, wheezing, buzzing, bumping, sneezing, snorting, sniffling.
Finally, Gabe could sense the massage was in the homestretch and was waiting for the announcement, "OK, all done. How do you feel?" He never got that. Instead she ended the session by just stopping and then saying, "OK, you can leave a cash tip on the counter or with a card up front. See you up there."
Now, feeling that guilt of the service provider standing right there when it was time to pay prompted that awkward concept of tipping face to face. The experience was terrible but do you tip just because it's customary... and because she's standing right there?
He remembered that she'd given him two options (tip in the room or at the register) so it wouldn't be strange for him to not leave a tip when he was paying. But, as he approached the front counter, she turned and went back to the room, leaving Gabe with the cashier to process the payment. Instantly, Gabe panicked and tried to make the transaction as quick as possible.
Instead, he was bombarded with a bunch of questions: How was everything? Did you need a receipt? Do you have insurance? Did you want to schedule your next appointment? Fearful the snotty, snorty, wheezy, sneezy worker would come back at any second, Gabe hurried the cashier saying he had to get back to work.
He was able to make his escape without facing her again.
Fast forward two weeks when a few of us did our usual Wednesday morning spa session. We go to one of three places depending on what we're having done. After we checked in and got to the locker room, Gabe told us the story about his previous massage. We could barely keep the volume down (you know those shoosh signs in spas) as he relived the frustration/hilarity of his experience.
We changed into our robes and went to the sitting area. As we nibbled on some snacks and sipped our tea, Collin commented that it would be delicious if Gabe got the same person at this spa.
"Don't even joke about that," Gabe dismissed.
One by one we were called to our massage rooms. Gabe was the last one waiting. The only person remaining in the tranquil sitting area. Then he heard it. The snort. That snort. THAT snort. The sniffle got closer. Then another snort. Masseuse appearing from around the corner in three, two... yup, it was her.
"Gabe? Hi, come with me."
He closed his eyes slowly and deeply before standing up and crossing the room. They made their way as she gave him the instructions and left so he could undress and get on the table.
Does she recognize me? Does she remember I didn't tip? Will she mention it? Will she give a shitty massage to get back at me? Gabe's mind was racing and he could feel his heart pounding as he laid face down on the table.
The double knock and the entrance.
"And how are we doing today?" she asked.
"Good, and you?" Gabe replied.
This time, Gabe engaged in conversation to see if she'd bring up his massage at the other place. Innocently, he asked if she was new because he hadn't seen her at the spa before. That's when she said she works freelance and takes appointments at a few places. He made note of which ones so he could avoid having another run-in.
So, was this appointment any better? It was essentially a repeat of what he experienced the first time -- minus the distractions from outside the room during the session.
Gabe said she hadn't improved at all.
"It was like I could already tell what she was about to do and prepare myself for the frustration."
What does that mean?
"I just remember when she'd move around to the other side I prepared myself for the table bump and the startling shake."
After our sessions, we regrouped in the sitting area. Gabe, last going in was the last to come out and join us. We asked how it was and he gave a blank stare.
"I'll tell you later," he said. With that, we all started laughing. We made our way to the locker room where we could be louder.
"Seriously?" asked Collin. "It was her?"
The look on Gabe's face was exhaustion like he'd been awake for 30 hours and desperately needed to sleep. He said he's probably the only person who's left a massage and needed one after because of it.
Looks like it's back to self-massage for the Gabester.