I’m a massage therapist. I am not grossed out by much. I’ve worked on
clients with boils, funguses (some of which clients were kind enough
to warn me about), smelly asses, filthy feet, excessive ear wax, unidentified
strange skin conditions which in the dark I could only imagine appearing
on my entire body the very next day, and of course the way way too often
horrific breath but seriously – it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.
I grew up with 12 cats, 2 dogs, a snake, mice and 3 slimy sloppy siblings
all at one time. It was my job to clean the 3 litter boxes (which were not
cleaned on a regular basis but only until they were each weighed down by
approximately 75 lbs. of cat urine). I’ve picked up dried cat shit with my
So I say – bring it on.
The turban guy pushed me past my very generous limit.
I was working at Cornelia Spa on 5th Ave.
This was my only experience working on a man wearing
If there is indeed a higher power – please let that be my last.
Everyone settle down. It’s not a racist thing. It’s a hope that I will
never ever have to touch anything this repulsive again.
And as with anything else, if he were a nice guy, I wouldn’t have cared
as much. Notice how I didn’t lie and say I wouldn’t have cared at all.
He was demanding, artistocratic & even though his face was almost completely
hidden with a thick coat of facial hair, I just knew there was a
judgmental frown worn under it all.
As I was working on his legs, between the scattered bald patches of hair,
there were horrible skin lesions. Of course I didn’t ask what they were
knowing that would only be an invitation for him to speak.
He was covered with a filth that could only accumulate after many weeks
(months?) of not bathing. I can only compare his body odor to the
smell of that bottle of 6 year old vegetable oil I found in the back of my
kitchen cabinet last June.
It’s quite frustrating and shocking when a client waits until the tail end
of their treatment to ask you to work on an area you hadn’t even flirted
with touching. It’s a sneaky way to get more time considering they are
given the chance to tell you exactly what they want BEFORE the massage.
But – I caved. I was up to my elbows in chest hair when he asked me
if I was going to work on his scalp. Yes. The scalp which would be
found somewhere under his turban. I was frightened.
I wasn’t sure what was going to happen once he took off that
headpiece. I imagined it similar to one of those trick cans that
spring loaded toy snakes pop out of.
A long, slimy, knotted mess oozed out of the turban.
I looked back on my life wondering what unforgivable sin I committed
to deserve such penalty.
Refusing to massage his scalp was an option I dismissed knowing
he was definitely the type to complain to a manager.
I didn’t want to chance losing any compensation for the 57 traumatizing
minutes already ripped from my soul.
I really must learn to say no sometimes.