This is the story of my friend, Heather.
It is also the story of my NOT friend, Jason.
If you are offended by the
use of foul language, specially the f-bomb, this is not the story for you and
you should stop reading now.
OK, it is just us foul mouth
f-bomb droppers left, right?
FUUUUUCK!!
My friend Heather, a true
sweetheart, messaged me this morning saying she had a massage appointment with “her
guy” at “her place”. And OFFERING me
said appointment. Like, free. As a gift.
“All you would need to do is tip!” she proclaimed.
Only, she sent the offer
in the morning.
And, having just gone
through a particularly stressful and busy holiday season, I slept until around
12:30 pm.
When I finally opened my
phone to see what had happened in the world while I drooled on my pillow, the
group conversation where the massage had been offered was full of, “SUSAN
BETTER WAKE UP SOON! She is gonna miss
out on this amazing offer!”.
I replied “YES PLEASE!” to
the offer and Heather went about changing the appointment to my name.
She even LENGTHENED the
appointment to 90 minutes for me! #Angel
I showed up at Thai
Origins Spa in Arlington, VA (Clarendon) the appointed time and presented
myself. I was greeted by name and sat to
fill out a new client in-take form and drink a cup of tea. Jason, Heather’s “guy”, was on stand-by ready
for me. He and the receptionist asked
what would be my pleasure – “Deep tissue??” they proposed. “Well, ummm, not DEEP DEEP tissue. I mean, hard rubbing, but not DEEP,” I replied,
having been traumatized by a Groupon massage years ago that still makes me
laugh when I think about listening to my partner David on the table next to be getting
beaten up by an old Asian woman, David in so much pain he could not stop
laughing loudly. “Oh,” Jason and the
receptionist agreed, “Swedish”.
Now, to be honest, I felt like
I had disappointed them a bit. “Swedish”
sounded like a wussy massage in their minds, but hey, it was my money, right? (Technically, it was Heather’s money, but you
know what I mean…).
Form completed, I followed
Jason down a dark-wood hallway to the massage room. We chatted briefly and I showed him where I was
sore.
Or, where I thought I was
sore.
He left, I undressed in
preparation, and snapped this selfie to show Heather afterward and thank her.
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| Me, being thankful and thinking I am chill. PRE-MASSAGE BY MY NON-FRIEND JASON |
When Jason returned he got
to work. He had barely touched my neck
when he declared what was to become a theme of the event, “HARD!!”.
Yes Jason, my muscles are
hard. It has been eons since I had a
professional massage. There has been
this little thing called COVID, you see, and I have avoided human contact for,
well, for what seems like forever. In fact,
I juuuust started hugging friends again as of last week. So yeah, my muscles are hard.
Oh, and see above, very stressful
and busy holiday season.
Then Jason got the fuck to
work.
Like, W O R K.
It became very clear right
away that Jason was not here to be my friend.
Jason wasn’t looking to scratch my back.
Jason wasn’t gonna put any woo woo warm rocks on me or lightly caress my
body.
Jason. Was going to. Fucking. Massage.
Me.
The whole, “Swedish”
concept went out the window by the time Jason felt my shoulders. “Need DEEP TISSUE” the expert proclaimed.
The. Pain.
The fucking pain.
I swear he worked on just
my neck and shoulders for 40 of the 90 minutes.
And I do not fault my
non-friend Jason for that! I do not
fault him on tiny bit. Cuz my neck and
my shoulders neeeeeeded that abuse!! Oh,
Jason dug. He pinched. He pushed.
He prodded. It was deep, I tell
you, it was deep.
And me, for my part?? Me, the pile of tense flesh on the
table?? I breaaaathed. Jason didn’t remind to me breathe. Maybe it is because he could feel and hear my
loud, deep breaths. I know that I have a
tendency to hold my breath, especially in painful situations. And this, I tell you, was a fucking painful situation.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Breathhhhhhe.
Now Origins Thai Spa does
not try to woo you. No, there is not
incense burning or music piped into the dark room. The only “music” that we heard the entire 90
minutes was the sound of my muscles popping and snapping as my non-friend Jason
tore into them.
It was fucking painful.
But it was pain I NEEDED, I
knew, so I kept breathing.
Now I should say, when I go
for massages (which by this point should be evident is not very often), I prefer
a therapist who doesn’t want to chit chat with me. I am not here to talk, I am here to be
massaged. Perhaps I will fall asleep and
take an amazingly deep nap while you rub my back.
Well, 2 things.
1.
Jason didn’t wanna chit chat either.
2.
Ain’t no way
I was gonna be able to take a nap.
But painful as it was, as
much as it huuuuurt, it felt healing. Felt
“good” (good is a relative term, right??).
Felt needed.
When Jason finally decided
that his work on my back was done (or, I imagine he thought, “This is as good as
this chick is gonna get in one massage”, he whipped out a piping hot
towel. Not just a “warm” towel. This sucker was HOT. At first I thought, “Ahhh, a warm towel to
make me all toasty before he moves onto another part of my body”. Nope.
This was a piping hot towel to wipe away the oil he had used. Then he used the towel to add just another
tiny level of torture as he abrasively moved it around while digging in my
still sore muscles. Oh Jason, you trickster
you!!!!
Next up – arms. Not bad.
I mean yes – they hurt. But not
nearly as bad as my shoulder blades!!
Then down the legs. “Ahhh,” I naively though. “Legs!
This will be the part when I can just relax and chill. My legs aren’t sore, this won’t hurt a bit”.
Could NOT have been
further from the truth. OOOOUCCCCH! I almost let a “Fuck!” fly out loud. I giggled, but tried to keep the giggles silent
(though, hello, he obviously saw my back bouncing up and down…). Legs.
Also. Hurt.
Time to flip over.
“Hmmm, wonder what kind of
torture he will inflict on the front side???” I silently wondered.
I didn’t have to wait
long.
He covered my face with a towel
and went to work, more deep rubbing. At one
point he pushed my towel covered face to the side so that he could twist and
bend me, pretzel-like. And that is the
moment I thought, “There! This moment
defines our non-friendship. He doesn’t want
to look at my face, and is so disconnected from the idea of wanting to
be friends that even a TOWEL covering me up doesn’t make me distant enough. He has to turn my head to the side, too.”
I get it Jason, I get it. We. Are. Not.
Friends.
More hot towels. More painful prodding. And finish off with a light stretch (anyone reading
this who has done Alexander work in theatre classes, you will understand – I felt
2 feet taller by the end).
And finally, “We are done”
he proclaimed.
‘THANK YOU” I replied,
earnestly.
And it was an earnest
thanks. Not a, “THANK GOODNESS THIS IS
FUCKING OVER!!”.
But a “THANK YOU. You read my body. You knew what I needed. You were not afraid to dig deep and hurt
me. You genuinely worked to HEAL, not
just to “be pretty and fluffy and light”.
You gave my body what it needed.”
But before he could escape
out of the room, I said, “So, next time I come, when I say what I want, that
was DEEP TISSUE, right???”. I was
nervous to ask the question. What if he
laughed and said, “Girl, that was Swedish!!”.
Oh hell to the no, if that was his answer, I am a bigger wimp than I ever
imagined.
“Yes, deep” was his reply.
FUCK YEAH!
Will I go back? HELL TO THE YES
Will I book with Jason
again? YOU BET
Will I ask for “deep”? YUP
10 out of 10 recommend
Origins Thai Spa
10 out of 10 recommend
Jason
He won’t be your
friend. He will give you what you need.
Thanks Heather. I am gonna be sooooo sore tomorrow, but I am
happy. And feel revived.
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Post massage - holy fuck that hurt!!!
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