Spa day gone wrong

This post has nothing to do with working in a bar, going to a bar, or anything related to drinking.  However, since it is the strangest thing that has happened to me, maybe ever, it deserves some words.  Let me just say that I have had tons of massages from tons of people in tons of places and none of them where like what I experienced today.

Even though I am unable to use coupons at restaurants or grocery stores (I have an intense fear of appearing cheap) I have been able to buy living social vouchers for massages.  Lately since I have been training for a half marathon my upper back has been really bothering me so I have been spending most Saturdays getting massages.  Thanks to Living Social, it has saved me a ton of money.  Today I showed up to my massage at a new place (I wont say where or with who but I can tell you I had never met the woman before today).  I told her about my running, a head on collision I was involved in a few years ago that initially caused the pain, and working at the bar which exacerbates it. 

She directed me to take everything off, including underwear, which is unusual.  She told me, "You may get wet and you don't want to go home in wet underwear."  Apparently she didn't understand what she just said so I dismissed it and feeling a tad uneasy, I undressed and laid down on the table as she directed me (she was out of the room at this time).  As I laid there waiting for her to return I was overwhelmed with a strange feeling that something horrible was going to happen.  Was it because she locked the front door behind her?  Then it dawned on me, the strange feeling was coming from the music she was playing.  At first it sounded like a thunderstorm, and then it morphed into something out of a Hitchcock movie.  There was strange keyboard music that made me certain that my day was going to end up with a scene from the Crying Game. 

She came in and since I was looking down I could see she was barefoot.  I have a thing about feet.  I despise them.  I don't like people touching my feet and I certainly don't like looking at or touching other peoples feet.  But fine, whatever, it's her place.  She said she was going to start off with some vibrator work, "Do you like that?"  Usually not with other women I thought but instead I said something like, "Sure?" Thankfully she couldn't see the horrified expression on my face.  After rubbing some weird vibrator all over me (I didn't like it by the way) she moved on to pumping oil all over her hands.  So much oil it was dripping on my back and completely freaked me out. What she started doing next I can't even describe.  I didn't think she was really serious.  It was like a fake movie massage from someone who was pretending to me a massage therapist.  I was expecting to look up and see Steve Carell or Vince Vaughn.  At one point she was rubbing so vigorously and my head was moving back and forth so much she stopped to ask, "Oh is that too much?"  Whiplash should have been your first clue. 

When she got to my arms the movement was like an Indian burn or a snake bite (depending on where you grew up).  Normally hand massages are my favorite part of a massage.  When she was rubbing my hands it was like she was cleaning them rather than massaging them.  Then she moved onto my legs and feet.  Normally I tell massage therapists that I have extremely ticklish feet but I had forgotten today.  Also, I ran 12 miles yesterday and worked 8 hours at the bar so my feet were a little sensitive anyway.  That didn't stop her from squeezing them as she was wringing out a towel, and trying to put her fingers in between my toes.  I can't even put my own fingers in between my toes!  Even though I acknowledged how ticklish I am by this point, she just won't stop! 

Next it was time for the mud wrap and steam.  Somehow I had pictured myself in white robe sitting in an all white steam room sipping champagne with some other ladies.  Instead, she rubbed scalding purple mud on me and then placed a tent over my entire body with the exception of my head.  The mud was only on my arms and legs and I was laying on my back.  She then said she would massage by face and head.  I almost wanted to beg her not too.  I don't really like having my scalp massaged anyway and the way she did it, it felt like she was itching my head.  Meanwhile, my body is enclosed in a steam tent.  There is a bolster under my knees which created a ramp for sweat to pour down towards my crotch and I was soon laying in a big puddle of sweaty mud.  She also kept making me drink water out of a straw which made me feel like I was in an iron lung or was going to get cut in half by a magician.  It should have been refreshing but since all I could think of was the sweat pooling under me, it tasted like the run off from the sweat suit stunt on Jackass 3.  Finally she got the tent off and wiped me down.  However the part of me that was the most sweaty and disgusting she thankfully left alone.  As she was wiping me down she asked, "Are you enjoying it so far?"  I forced a smile to spare her feelings and said, "Oh yes!"  As she continued to get the mud off I willed a pleasant expression to my face.  "Look happy, look happy" I told myself.  She then explained she would apply some moisturizing lotion that contained no chemicals, it was totally green.  When someone says "Green" to me, I automatically think "hippy."  Thankfully the lotion didn't smell too bad, but after all that sweating I definitely left there smelling like a hippy on the last day of Bonnaroo.  I couldn't get home and into the shower fast enough.  Instead, she welcomed me to a sitting room where I could enjoy a cup of tea and some dried fruit and crackers.  Anyone who knows me has heard me say, 'I don't drink hot things and I dont' eat cold things."  I know it's weird but I don't drink coffee and I don't eat ice cream.  For some reason I felt for this lady.  She was really sweet and her ineptness just made her more endearing.  So I choked down some tea and tried to eat a cracker (I am still, hours later still picking cracker crap out of my teeth).  Finally I jumped up and announced I had to go to the bathroom so I could leave.  I shoved a tip in her hand and left telling her how great I felt, and I ran to my car and flew home.

How to treat people like crap

"How people treat you is their karma, how you react is yours."  Well here's my reaction to some of the things that have happened to myself and fellow service industry friends.

My friend Renee was working at the main bar and got a guy a beer on his way into the gameroom.  About a half hour later, the gameroom bartender had been cut so she went over there to work.  The guy came up to the bar and said, "Oh! I've never seen you here before."  She took a deep breath and said, "I just got you a beer at the other bar a little bit ago." He seemed puzzled by this and then his eyes traveled from her face to her chest.  Suddenly the light bulb went off, "Oh yeah! Now I recognize you! You look a lot better in that light." - meaning the dimmer, darker lighting at the main bar.  What other job can offer you constant berating?!? Why do people think it is okay to vomit every thought that comes out of their brains without thought to how others may perceive it?  On a side note: the more revealing a shirt a woman is wearing, the more conscious she is of where your eyes are focused. Most of us also have peripheral vision so you aren't getting away with anything so try and use yours.

My friend Brett was waiting on a couple that had no idea what they wanted and seemed to feel like this was Brett's fault.  He just didn't seem to understand them well enough to make a proper suggestion.  They finally settled on something and Brett scurried off to fetch it for them.  The couple had free drink tickets and the man held out $5.  The bartender knew the man was not going to tip $5 - the guy had yelled at him and they had no clue what they wanted.  Sure signs that the couple were not bar regulars nor big tippers.  The bartender saw the $5 and went to the register and got 5 singles.  Before the man could even ask for change, the bartender handed him the 5 ones. He was visibly taken aback by the bartender's psychic powers. The woman said (out loud as if bartenders were deaf as well as dumb), "So he's not totally stupid after all."  A less restrained person would have punched the woman in the throat.  The bartender, ever the professional, just smiled, laughed, and went directly to the cooler to medicate himself with a shot of jagermeister.

After work this weekend I grabbed a beer and sat myself down in front of what turned out to be a very angry bartender.  We'll call him Mitch.  I am one of those people who find the misfortune of others hilarious so I wanted all of the details of whatever had pissed him off so much.  It involved a girl and her birthday.  No surprises so far.  She irritated him right off the bat because she was drinking something called, "Hoopie Juice" which is named after the bartender who was notable absent that night.  Hoopie is normally the only bartender this girl will order drinks from.  Mitch was angry about the 8 ingredients in Hoopie Juice and he was equally grossed out by the name of the drink.  The girl was very evasive about paying for her drinks and finally Mitch asked her for a credit card.  When she didn't have one, he informed her that her tab was up to $22.  She smiled and said she had 6.  Mitch narrowed his eyes and said, "I need $22."  He said this knowing that he most likely had missed a drink so $22 was a low estimate of the actual amount of her tab.  The girl grabbed a friend who pitched in another $10.  The girl was angry that this friend had put a drink on her tab, and even though the friend was trying to help pay the tab, she felt like she should bitch out the bartender for allowing such a thing to happen.  They now had $16.  After conferencing with the other females in the group, they brought another $7 in ones and change up to the bar.  The extra dig that sent him over the edge was when they told him to keep the change.  Thanks for the dollar.  Before you feel too sorry for the birthday girl who had to scrape up change to pay her tab on her birthday, I should mention that she hired a photographer to follow her and her friends around for the night.  I'm pretty sure that cost more than $22.  It is also worth noting that this girl has two jobs that both rely on tips.  It's like a cop who breaks the law - you can't plead ignorance.

My standard approach to a table is to smile and ask, "How are you doing tonight?"  A normal response to that is usually, "Good. How are you?"  While these exchanges are meaningless and said automatically, some people don't think I deserve that level of politeness.  Often times people ignore my question and just jump right into their order.  Ok! All business.  That's efficient and I can appreciate efficiency.  When it becomes over the top is when guys answer that question not realizing that I CAN HEAR.  Drunk people tend to lose a little bit of hearing with every drink and thus get louder and louder until they are shouting everything.  After asking a couple of guys how they were doing, they replied as if I was deaf, "My night would be a lot better if she'd show us her tits."  Sorry, guys, it's not that kind of bar.  I love how guys think that if they just verbalize what they want to happen that it will actually come true.  Oh! You wanted to see me naked?!? You wanted to, let me get this right, "eat breakfast off my ass" - SURE!  I had no idea! Why didn't you say something sooner! Wow. We really could have saved some time here. Could I get you a new car as well?  Get you all your drinks for free? Sure! All you have to do is ask!  Because that's how life works.  (I hope you are picking up on the sarcasm because I am laying it down about as hard as I can think it).

Many times when I go to a table they tell me they have started a tab.  Normally, this means they started it with the bar so often times I don't ask - I just check with the bar. When the bar doesn't have the tab, my next question is usually, "Who did you give your credit card to?"  I have found this to be more easily answered because it allows people to point at someone.  This man replied, "I gave it to the bar maid." WHO?!? And then he pointed at the other server.  A BARMAID?! Seriously?! What are you - a viking? When was the last time you were in a bar - 1840?  I don't get too offended when people say "waitress" but my jaw actually dropped when that guy said "barmaid."  I even paused thinking he was making a joke.  I had an old guy give me that elbow to the ribs motion and ask if he could call me a bar wench.  I paused, and without any expression simply said, "No."  Who the fuck would say yes to that question?!  Yes, please degrade me.  I have no self worth, you may use whatever slurs you like to address me.  For those of you who don't know, just like stewardess or air hostess is no longer the correct nomenclature for flight attendant, "server" is the preferred terminology for waitstaff - not waitress, not waitperson, certainly not barmaid and definitely not bar wench. 

RULE: Do right, treat people right, and things will go right.