There aren’t many things that I can think of that I enjoy more than indulging in a massage, preferably a deep tissue. I have too many knots and crazy tension to not treat myself every now and then. If I could justify getting a massage weekly I would absolutely do it. I have experienced a number of spas in my day… mediocre to grandiose and they’re all pretty similar. Some higher quality than others, but you have the typical locker room, sauna, steam room, massage room, and if you’re lucky a hot tub. It’s not so much the ambiance that I’m a critique of, but more so the masseuse that’s massaging the stress right out of me. I don’t continually go to the same masseuse, although after the few awkward experiences I have had with masseuse’s you would think I would have learned my lesson. Not exactly the case...
My best friends and I tend to make a full day and night when celebrating one of our Birthday’s, and this time around we decided to treat ourselves and the Birthday girl to massages. We went to Spa Space in Chicago, which I had never been to, but everyone seemed to rave about it. I should have known better than to fall for hype, but being that I was excited for a girl’s spa day I fell right into the trap. Please note, I decided to switch it up from my usual deep tissue and went with a tropical body scrub, which also included a mini massage. Best of both worlds, right? Wrong.
We get to the spa, head to the locker room, change into our robes and make small talk as we’re waiting for our masseuses to come get us. I knew I was in a deep shit when I was the 4th out of 5 to get called out… and not by the masseuse, but by the receptionist. You see, I had Jerry… a male, who obviously wasn’t allowed to waltz into the ladies locker room to get me. Was this my first time with a dude masseuse? Not at all. In fact, I don’t mind having men because sometimes they’re stronger and can really get knots out. The problem was that Jerry didn’t lead me upstairs where all of the massage rooms were. Jerry had the room under the stairs. Why don’t you just lock me in your tiny jank room and rape me while you’re at. It was a very awkward and uncomfortable start to what I thought was going to be a nice relaxing body scrub.
In the dimly lit triangular room Jerry started going at it with the sugar scrub. I was lying face down to start and he began… first legs, then my back, then my arms. I did my best to just relax and let the awkwardness disappear, but naturally that did not happen. All I could think was… “Are all of the rooms as creepy as this one?” “I can’t wait to tell the girls about this disaster.” “Is this really happening to me?” Yes, Lizz, it really was happening.
It did not hit me until I had to turn over that there was no sheet to cover me like a normal massage would have. Instead, because it was a scrub, I was covered with 2 small towels. Might as well lose the 2 towels at this point… Jerry and I were practically lovers <vom.com>. It was less than lovely picturing Jerry scrubbing my stomach and hoping one of my boobs didn’t perform a peep show. As far as I know, they stayed in place, unless Jerry was getting quite a good show while scrubbing me down and didn’t tell me. After hoping I would blackout and forget that this was happening it was time to get the scrub off of me. My good friend Jerry got some wash cloths and started rubbing off the scrub with wet cloths. I was a sticky mess when it was all said and done, and NO, I do not mean like that! I was covered in a sugar scrub and then wiped down with a wet cloth… by a male, who was particularly careless in getting all of the scrub off of me.
Needless to say I could not wait to be done and head back to vent to the girls. From what I remember the girls said my facial expression screamed mortified. It’s weird because they all looked quite relaxed and content. I walked out of that place with a few thoughts and questions… 1. Why would youever have a dude masseuse take his female client into a tiny room under the stairs and think that’s normal? 2. I am never going back there again. 3. It’s weird that walking out of the spa I feel more tension and knots in my back than when I walked in. 4. I need a cocktail, pronto tonto!
take it or leave it: I know I cry easily, but I dare you not to get tears in your eyes watching this. Love this... and it doesn't hurt that Tim Allen is the narrator. Chevy commercial
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