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It’s Not Therapeutic To Be This Stressed

, , , , , | Working | June 19, 2018

I’m working a normal day at the massage studio when something I’ve never experienced happens.

A client is booked for a session at a certain time with a therapist — let’s call the client Mary — and I greet and check them in, and they wait for their session. As they wait, we even buy a gift card for their friend with her card on file and make another appointment for her. Eventually the therapist comes to get her to take her into session, and everything seems fine.

A minute later, Mary comes in, apologizing for being late for her session. I stare at her with a face of a deer in headlights and ask her to repeat her name. Then, panic sets in. Who’s on the therapist’s table?

I run back to find the therapist before they go in, stating Mary is here for her session, and we now have no idea who is in his room. He has to end up going in there basically saying, “Who are you?” since we’ve greeted her under the assumption that her name is Mary [Last Name], for her session.

Turns out, her name is Kari. Very similar in names! Her session is for the same time, with the same therapist but for tomorrow. Scrambling still continues as I realize I bought a gift card for Kari with Mary’s money!

Thankfully, we are able to get the real Mary scheduled for a new session, her card refunded, and each party happy, but after working at this studio for almost two years, and the therapist for over five years, we’ve never had anything like this happen before!

A Different Kind Of Crab Mentality

, , , , | Right | January 28, 2018

(I work in an office, booking spa days and treatments for a large UK chain.)

Request: “Does [Owner] do the massages? I’d like him to dress up as a crab. I have made an outfit out of heavy-duty rubber and plastic. [Owner] can wear this. There are eyeholes to see out of, and levers and pulleys inside the pincers so that they can be operated. The crab costume is painted professionally in the correct colors so that it will look like an actual crab, albeit a very big one. I will also need three hazelnuts placed on a south facing window-sill during my massage, and the Nicaraguan national anthem playing on a trumpet.”

(Needless to say, they did not get this request!)

They’re Massaging The Truth

, , , | Healthy | November 12, 2017

(Where I work the hands-on part of the massage is 50 minutes. There is a client who knows this, as I and others have told him several times, yet he always pretends to be surprised and mad about it. He has been coming in two or three times a month for over a year. It always goes something like this:)

Me: *after discussing what he wants worked on* “Okay, you can undress and start face down, I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

Client: “A couple minutes?! Why? I’ll only be ten seconds! Don’t go anywhere.”

Me: “I need to return your file up front and wash my hands. I’ll be two minutes.”

Client: “I only need ten second to undress.”

Me: “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple minutes.” *closes door*

(Often when I’m in the break room washing my hands I can hear his voice out in the hall saying: “I’m ready! Hello? Hello?” I give him his 50 minutes hands-on massage, and end at, say, 6:55.)

Me: “Okay, thank you. I’ll go get you some water and—”

Client: “Done?! Already?”

Me: “I’m afraid so!”

Client: “Why?”

Me: “Well, that’s all of our time. I have another client at seven.”

Client: “Yes, so we have five more minutes.”

Me: “The hands on portion of our massage is 50 minutes.” *as you’ve been told several times, you idiot!*

Client: “Why?”

Me: “I’ll go get you your water and meet you in the hall.”

(He is sometimes grumpy when he meets me in the hall, or sometimes he thanks me and says he feels great. Either way, he always complains to the front desk that I ended five minutes early, and they always tell him that I did not and that he paid for a 50-minute hands-on massage!)

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You Can’t Massage The Truth

, , , | Right | September 18, 2017

(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—”


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—”


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.”


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.)

Pray They’re Horsing Around

, , , , | Right | August 17, 2017

Client: “Say, you did a fine job massaging my wife. Do you mind taking a look at my horse? She’s been limping a spell.”

Me: “Thanks, I… What did you just say?”