Jun 06, 2011 22:29
I was sitting drinking some coffee in Caribou, minding my own business and reading a book when a lady came by handing out raffle tickets. Free massage was the prize, with no strings attached, yet there were some people who were turning her down.
I couldn't imagine why they would turn down a shot at a free anything and since I'm not a fan of massages, I figured I could dump it on someone else who does like getting rubbed by strangers. Plus I felt bad for her, as she was keeping a brave face on so many knockbacks. So I took the ticket, filled out the contact information smiled and said thanks. I thought no more about it and accidentally threw the ticket away with the paper cup that my coffee was in.
Then I won and I became immediately suspicious.
Okay, I thought, everyone who entered this won, right? This isn't a competition but a trawl; I'm not special, I'm a mark. They'd called and left a message, the same lady, it sounded like, because she sounded like she was keeping a brave face on making a phone call. She is just one of those people who give off the vibe of being ready to crack if anything goes wrong; but they're actually just fine. Really, a pretty great person to be asking people to enter a competition, now that I think about it. Poor wee soul, of course I will, there you go, not so bad is it?
They called again to confirm the other day and I realised I had neither bumped this prize off on someone who might enjoy it nor found a good excuse to get out of it. Which is fine, I owe them nothing and "I don't want to do that" it turns out, is a perfectly reasonable thing for an adult to say.
I don't like the idea of massages. I've moaned about as much no less than three blog posts ago... go ahead, scroll down, see what I say about them... so no point repeating that. But it seems stupid to not like them because I think I don't like them, rather than not liking them... because I don't like them. I've never had a professional person rubber rub my person, so I shouldn't make snap judgements.
I think that ever since the month of vegetarianism, I've been more open to trying things that I think I'll dislike. I get annoyed at myself sometimes at how reluctant I am to step out of my comfort zone: I get petulant and cranky if I get pulled away from the stupid crap I was counting on doing to do something else. Oh, god, you should see me when I run out of games I want to play on the XBox. Big bottom lip sticking out, arms all one length, in the huff.
Maybe it is summer that makes me try stuff. Knowing that my house is nice and cool makes me more likely to spend time outside, since I know that when I get sick of the heat, I can always go back inside. When my house is hot, I just doss around it, moaning about how bloody hot it is. So on a larger scale, knowing that my life is really pretty cushy allows me to take steps into painful or unpleasant areas because I know I can always retreat to aforementioned cushiness.
Take, for example, Holden Village. I'm going back there. Yes, me, after ranting about what an awful time I had and how I'd never go back. I'm actually quite cheerful about going back. The problem with the place was primarily due to the people and people are the most likely thing to change after a few years. There'll still be church services that I don't want to go to (we're there a week - if I stop going after day three, it'll take the Lutherans a few days to stop giving me the benefit of the doubt, but I'll be gone by then), there'll be compulsory Scholz activities (that I'll just bring a book to, because I've learned that nothing happens quickly when the cat-herding starts) and there'll be World Hunger Awareness Day when everyone will be served white rice and only white rice for their meals ( which is when I will pull out all the salami and cheese I'm going to take with me and eat it happily, because if you really want to feel aware of world hunger, you have to simulate what it is like to have lucky fat guys having a whale of a time, while you starve to death).
Anyway, back to the massage. I decided to go. Yes, leaving my comfort zone to have someone rub my back muscles isn't exactly a bold step into a new world, but it was something I'd normally not do. But I was still suspicious. They were going to try and sell me something, weren't they? What if this is a cult? What if this is an organ farm and they're already prepping the table to receive my innards (good luck lifting my liver out all by yourself!).
I drove down there after work and was surprised ( I don't know why) to find that it was a Chiropractic office. There were two places I could see Brave Face On It Lady working, either a clinical setting like this or a hippy, new-age place with bead curtains and ambient music and occasional cats. I probably wasn't in the best frame of mind for Chiropractors, because I was 3/4 of the way through a book that Steven loaned me - Attack Of The Unsinkable Rubber Ducks, by Christopher Brookmyre. Since it deals with the various frauds, I was predisposed to look for shenanigans, since I'm really not quite sure about Chiropractors. I suppose I'm suspicious of colleges that teach a single discipline, which is apparently where all the Chiropractors in this office went.
Anyway, they had me fill out a form, then a Chiropractor checked me out and told me a bit about Chiropractic stuff. I said I had a slightly sore lower back because I am overweight and sit in a chair most of the time; she showed me four sections of plastic spinal column, the first healthy, the second a bit deflated and weary looking, the third chipped and dented, and the fourth like a talking tree in a haunted wood from a Tim Burton film. "This is what we want to stop happening" she told me, the implication being that it was on the cards. She examined my back, telling me that I was right-handed, either because she expertly read the muscles in my lower back or because she made an 80% guess. See? This is unfair! She was perfectly nice and I was still super suspicious, no longer that they were getting the dry ice ready for my spleen or getting ready to introduce me into the wonderful world of Dianetics but because I had a horrible sinking feeling that they were going to try and sell me something.
I feel bad about being so suspicious, because they didn't. After making sure I wouldn't die or be paralysed by a massage, she told me that if my back kept bothering me to see a Chiropractor a little closer to my house, but in any case, your free massage is in the next room. And so it was, on a low green table with one of those toilet-seats-for-your-face (they even have the same tiny paper covers that women use on public loos) that I kind of wish beds had. I hopped on and the masseuse rubbed my back and I managed to neither drool nor groan. It all went really well for about 20 minutes or so and then, as I was on the edge of falling asleep, the timer went off and that was that. Nobody stole my kidneys or anything. I was woozy getting up and it suddenly struck me that I wasn't sure if I was supposed to tip her. If it had been the hippy, new-age place I would probably have left a ten under the buddha-shaped incense holder, but here, in a clinic? What made it worse was that she was kind of hanging around, but in retrospect, that may have been because I looked like I was going to take a digger into the clinic's potted plants. I didn't, finding my legs and shaking off the stupor that the massage had put me in. She said goodbye, I said goodbye and left.
I felt pretty good. Not amazingly improved. But pretty much like I'd just stepped out of the hammock after a nap in it. A little woozy, a little euphoric and a wee bit more bendy. I don't know if it'll work for other people the same way, but once you buy a brazilian hammock and few bottles of Bulleit bourbon, you may never need to pay for a massage ever again. I'm glad I tried it, I'm glad it all went well and I'm glad I have an idea of what to expect from massages, so that now I'll never pay for one and expect miracles.