Last night’s, last minute, 8pm booking (we close at 9 and usually prepare to get ready to leave at 4 so these clients are way at the top of the list of most wanted dead).
It was a female request/deep tissue massage (second on that very same list).
My contempt and I went to pick up Lucas for his session;
a stocky, tattooed, demanding fellow.
“Lucas, what would you like me to concentrate on?”
Just all over…
“Lucas, I need you to let me know what needs the most work; we only have an hour.”
He replies –
in other words Lucas was a complete jackass.
Oh and go as deep as possible. I can take it. I’ll let you know if you are hurting me.
Me: “Ok, wait, let me go home and get my All-Clad frying pan and smash you in the face with it and you let me know when I’m hurting you.”
His back feels like set concrete.
I decided to just beat the shit out of him, throwing any safe new deep-tissue techniques I just learned, in the garbage for the hour.
I was going so deep, the table was crying…
Then there was silence. Thank god, the beast fell asleep.
I turned him over. Winter had ended and hibernation was close to a finish.
He asked me if I’ve ever tried using a tincture of cannibis.
I couldn’t understand him, so I went up to his head and asked him what he was talking about.
It was then, I smelled, what, I could only imagine, was 2 bottles of long gone whiskey.
He began talking about putting liquid cannibis into candy. Making cannibis Jolly Ranchers.
He then, put his clasped hands behind his head and started talking, in depth, about hard drugs and different ways of using them, etc.
I didn’t know whether to finish the massage or ask him for a Jolly Rancher.
I went through the motions of working on his legs, while he chatted about every type of drug on the planet (all the while I was trying to conjure up a magic spell
to cause him to spontaneously burst into flames along with the spa).
Thank god, the other therapist, who was lucky enough to have his ‘friend’ (a thin, weird, sparkly eye make-up wearing girl, who could have been a stand in for ‘Columbia’ in the “Rocky Horror Picture Show”) shook my curtain, letting me know the dread was over and I said, “Oh, it seems like your girlfriend is done, our session is over.”
When I went up to the front desk to alert them of my client’s state, the receptionist said, “Oh yeah, he was totally jacked-up.”
I guess they didn’t feel as if I would have benefited from that information.