You Can’t Massage The Truth

(I work at an airport spa as a receptionist and nail manicurist, and some pretty wacky people come through here. I’m 17, but look a little younger than that. My appearance tends to attract older, creepy men to ask me strange questions. One day, a man enters the spa, and this interaction happens:)

Man: “I was wondering about a massage; what are my options?”

Me: “Of course. These are your options right here.” *I show him the list of massages available.*

Man: “So, if I get a table massage, what will you do?”

(My coworker is the massage therapist and has just exited the massage room, so she hears the rest of this conversation.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir; I’m not the therapist, I just do—”

Man: “I AM THE CUSTOMER, AND I DEMAND THAT YOU MASSAGE ME. I AM PAYING!”

Me: “I’m well aware that you are a paying customer, but I legally cannot provide that service. I am only licensed to do nai—”

Man: “YOU MUST DO THE SERVICE, OR I WILL COMPLAIN!”

Me: “Certainly. Let me give you my supervisor’s number, so that you can complain about a service I legally cannot provide you.”

Man: *his face goes red* “I… WELL, I NEVER!”

Me: “I am a manicurist, though.”

Man: “I WANT A MASSAGE!”

Me: “Of course. Sign in here for me, then.”

Man: “I want you to do it.”

Me: “Please leave; we cannot provide you a service.” *It’s nearly midnight, and my patience has all but evaporated.*

(The man glares at me for a full minute, before literally running out.)

Coworker: “He really wanted that massage.”

Me: “Yeah, I don’t understand why he insisted on me, though.”

Coworker: “You’re too innocent to be working at an airport.”

(She explained later why he really wanted me to do it. I was not flattered.)