I went to professional thai massage therapy recommended by my colleagues. I had extreme reservations because of… well, you know, it’s a thai massage. But my colleagues swore that the salon was legit, very professional, articulate staff, no sexual component included, very relaxing, does wonders for your neck. So what the hell, as a desk jockey my neck hurts all the time, I’ll give it a try.
Cautiously, I booked a neck and shoulder massage online. When I turned up, there was no receptionist, just a harried-looking middle-aged thai lady who spoke not a word of any language comprehensible to me. She hustled me into a bare room with a forlorn massage table in the middlle, and told me via Google Translate to remove my clothes.
Startled to obedience, I removed my button-up shirt and approached the table. This did not go down well with the lady, who prodded me with a bony finger and indicated that t-shirt and trousers should go too. I tried to point out that I had booked a neck and shoulders massage but to no avail. CLOTHES OFF SIR nagged the phone screen.
So there I was, in my embarrassing tighty whities shivering in a cold room, wishing I had worn my “Sounds GAY I’m in” boxers, undoubtedly about to be ravished by an increasingly annoyed thai lady who kept prodding and poking me towards the table.
I’ll not go into details about what happened, except it was not in any way what I was expecting. She mauled me with a strength of dozen bears, cracking my joints, pulverizing my buttocks. She turned my unwilling chubby body into such contortions that I had to squeeze my sphincter shut as if my life depended on it, in order not to rip out a series of massive farts. I’ll give her that there indeed was no happy ending, but it was an hour of absolute agony and I when I finally limped out, tears in my eyes, belt undone and my shirt buttons crooked, I felt like I had been waterboarded by CIA for weeks.
I don’t think I need to say that it was the first and last massage in my life.
Funnily enough, I have a few friends who really think like this. Personally, having driven manual for 20 years before I switched to electric a year ago, I don’t see it, apart from a certain comfortable nostalgia. Automatic is better in cities and it’s a lot easier for kids to learn. Handbrake starts on hills? What a weird thing to be nostalgic about.
I suspect it’s just these people think handling the gearstick makes them special. It’s the one thing they can be smug about,completely discounting the fact that any old idiot can learn to drive manual if they just practice a bit. Reminds me of my grandpa who insisted that it’s better to chop down trees with an axe and a handsaw, instead of using these modern chainsaws. He was a stubborn old dude.