The Mechanic’s Terminology

A friend of mine put a tiny dent into my car back on a popular summer holiday. He sent me to a mechanic friend of his to get it fixed. This mechanic was a big Italian (possibly) New York kinda guy. *You know… the giant gold cross necklace with fat fingers and creeping eyes* While waiting for a response from my friend on whether to go through with the $500 charge (obviously a rip off) the man and I were talking. He had seen my massage table and asked if that’s what I do. Instead of lying, I said ‘yea. I do outcalls.’ He said he could give me a bigger discount on the car if I gave him a  massage. I’m open to barter and trades so I said ‘Sure. Give me a call.’ Clearly, it had been before 10am since I gave him my card (aka I wasn’t awake yet). I also may have been thinking, “By the time this guy calls, I’ll be out of the country.” My friend ended up not wanting to pay $500 to fix a dent smaller than my fist (duh) so I left.

A few days ago I got a call from The Mechanic. He goes on about how his back hurts from his job and how Massage Envy doesn’t provide the massages he wants when he wants it and how he’s stressed and needs some stress relief. *BING* Flag  is up. Stress relief can mean two very different things in the massage world. It could mean ‘I have a lot of stress and I’d like to relax please’ or ‘I have a very specific location that I hold stress particularly south of my stomach and north of my thighs’. For some reason though (maybe the previously mentioned creeping eyes) stress relief sounded not quite right. But because it wasn’t blatant I had to keep going with my intake. I asked what time length he was looking for… 30? 60? 90? He responded with ‘Wow. Yea 90 minutes would be great.’ I said ‘ok! Just so you know, a 90 minute massage will cost $100’ and he responds with ‘Yea $100. $200. Whatever’ (((((???? okayyyyyy….))))) *BING* Flag turns orange – something doesn’t seem right with $100, $200, whatever.
My warning flag’s color change prompted me to explain what areas of the body I work on in a 90 minute massage. He said ‘yea uh huh okay’ a few times and responded with ‘Well is there any other therapeutic extras you offer? You know for stress relief?’ *Bing Bing Bing* Warning Warning. My flag is now red. Code red. Hooker nail polish red. ‘I usually offer hot stone massage or aromatherapy, sir. But those upgrades are currently unavailable’. “ookay” says he.

Therapeutic meaning therapy. Meaning something maybe out of balance or injured and needs repairing. In this case, The Mechanic used an excellent term to refer to an inappropriate action. Sneaky… but I’m smarter than that, douche.

I proceeded anyway (again, not quite post-coffee time). “May I have an address where the massage will take place?” ‘Uh.. I’m at a friend’s house so I’ll text it to you.’ “Okay, can you give me a general area so I know how to calculate the gas cost please?’ He tells me that part of town. “I’ll see you at 4:30, Mechanic?” ‘Yea. 4 sounds great. See you then. But call before, I want to make sure I’m awake and ready for you.’

He sends me a text with the address and, go figure, the address does not exist. The zip code is correct but the street (in all various blvds, st, rd, pl, ave, etc) does not exist. After my coffee and the review of the alarms ringing and flags waving in my face I realized I needed to cancel that massage. So I called to no answer. To no voicemail. I would think that a businessman would have a voicemail. Or anyone that has a cell phone ever. So I did the most unprofessional thing I could think of… I cancelled via text. My responses were ‘bbbkffpprrr. z. fjklf’ followed by ‘message right.’ followed by ‘flkjrjrrbkfflazzzz’ and again ‘too late’. I had a voicemail with no missed call that was 3 minutes of nothingness. Sorry Mr. Mechanic. But not really.

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New Massage Technique: Serenade?

This is a story from a few years back while I was working out in Hawai’i.

I had been referred to a private client by someone who I know longer remember. This client happened to be VP of a particularly prominent shoe brand. As always, I turned the music on prior to setting up so the client can decide if it was what they wanted to relax to. My choice that session was “standards.” Sweet ballads by Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Doris Day, Frank Sinatra, etc. You know… classics. VP asks me how I came to listen to these old singers and I told him I had no idea. I like the music, it reminds me of days that I never lived (in this life). I told him it inspired me to sing and Ella Fitzgerald was my musical preference.
He made a proposition I have still not had matched. He offered me twice the agreed upon rate, if I would ‘serenade’ him to sleep while I gave a massage. I recall agreeing of course. My first (and only) paid singing gig?!  While massaging? Throw in some ballet and I could be on America’s Got Talent!
Like most of my clients, he was passed out within the first 10 (of 90) minutes. At some point I think I went from singing to humming and he actually awoke and said humming was not part of the contract. Ha!!! Amazing. He was asleep and woke up when I stopped singing. ((Good thing I didn’t get caught having stopped the massage – jk. I would never))

Nice guy in a great big cabin in northern west Maui. I never got a bad vibe from him and he followed through with his end of the bargain. If I could make that a new style of massage..  ahhh c’est la vie.

LMTA: Lmt Anonymous

My name is $#@^^*^- It’s been 9 months since my last massage.

well…. since I’ve given my last massage. Honey, I’m in Thailand right now – I can get a Thai massage here!

But that is not the point. The point is… I miss it.

I miss my table with the good head rest.

I miss the sheets, they were the best.

I miss my butter and my oil

I’m sad I’m gone, cuz now its spoiled.

I miss feeling the rotator cuff,

applying pressure that’s just enough.

I miss the energy and the flow

I miss massage I’m sure you know.

I do not miss the sleazy stares, the backs that have small bumps and hairs.

I do not miss the same lame joke, I do not miss the smell of smoke.

I do not miss the stinky sweat, I do not miss it, you can bet.

But overall I think I’d say

I really only miss the pay.

 

🙂 Just kidding.

Feet

Everyone’s favorite area to get massage. It’s probably the most requested area (aside from happy ending areas) to massage.
And I hate them.
Feet are dirty and often neglected.

There are so many disgusting stories about people and their feet. But I’m only going to share one that is short and sweet.

Of course, being from orlando I worked for a very popular mouse… Correction: worked on property. People from all over the world come here and walk around with their heavy backpacks and obese children and the overly clunky strollers. Naturally a massage is what they want. But few consider when booking the massage that it takes forever to get to the spa on a mouse-bus.
To boot (heeehee: boot-feet? Get it?), this couple is running late. They have been at Animal Kungdom all day and booked an hour massage plus 30min reflexology. After showing up nearly 30 min late they rush to drop their monster sized bags in the massage room rather than the locker area provided. Mr Whateverman is on the table and expressing how excited he is to get this massage. “We’ve been at Animal Kungdom since 9am. Sorry we are late. We came straight from the park”.
Me: no shit Sherlock. I can smell the rhino and bird crap on you “oh wow! Long day, huh?”
Mr Whateverman: “yea. Do you mind just working a few minutes on the back then focus on feet?”
Me: of course! (enter Disney smile)

After less than a minute of massaging his back I notice my hands are feeling dirty. His back is covered in the chunks of the mixture of dirt, sweat, and lavender massage oil. I literally had to wipe him down with washcloths. More than one. Each effleurage stroke rubbed the dirt off his nasty back onto my precious hands. (If you don’t understand then put some sunscreen on your arms or legs and go camping then rub your skin before your shower and see what peels off. )
After his darling back massage I pulled the sheets back from his feet. (I literally had to pause writing this just now because the memory of his feet is so appalling).
The bottom of his feet were black. Not just a little dirt. It looked as if he walked around Animal Kungdom’s shitpile wearing charcoal socks in shoes with freshly painted black soles.
The smell emanating from it caused me to silently gag.
I used without exaggeration 10 wet/warm washcloths just to clean his feet. Two of the cloths I had poured lavender and peppermint oils onto. The first half of the foot massage was just cleaning his feet. I think I started to actually massage them when I reached a pale pinkish gray hue.
I sat as far as I could reach from the feet.
I don’t recall the rest of the massage or if mr Whateverman liked it. But please people: do not go to Animal Kungdom in flip flops for 9 hours then go straight into a massage. Take a damn shower. Or at the very least clean your feet.

Comparable

If anyone walked into the poker room before noon, they would ask themselves if they accidentally walked into a bingo hall instead. There are SO many old men there it is isn’t funny… or it is because old men can be funny.

Many of them are war veterans of this or that war. At least once a day I hear them say “I’m too old” or “My bones couldn’t handle a massage” or whatever. I know the excuses and I smile nicely and walk on.

Recently however, I had an influx of men who fought in ‘Nam. And they LOVE to tell me that they had a massage once… over in some asian country where the girls give REALLY GOOD massages.

Old men “I fought in ‘Nam. I was stationed at one point in Thailand. I definitely got massages there. They were only a few bucks too. Great massages”

Me “But I doubt we give the same type of massages”

Old men “No honey, I hope not! Haha. and if my wife ever found out…”

Thank you old men for comparing my massages to those of hookers in thailand.

Stinky people

People who gamble seriously take gambling serious. As mentioned, I see people gambling not just $5 bets.. $500 bets on a regular basis.

In the poker room, players will sit there for hours upon hours playing cards and losing their money (and then winning it back and then losing it again, etc). I started my shift around 10 am and immediately got a massage. There was a particularly ghetto guy playing at Table 14 across from my massage. His friend was playing there as well. His friend mentioned he has to get back home to get his kid and since he was the sober of them, they needed to leave in an hour. Ghetto guy agreed and went back to singing especially loud and off key to the pure enjoyment of the entire table. I’m still a bit tired so I encourage this character by laughing a few times at his incredible (horrible) singing abilities. At some point I suppose he starts to notice because he starts to lower his glasses at me and smile.MMmmmmm, nothing turns a girl on like gold-framed teeth. He loses a few hands, wins a few hands, then tells his friend to F*** off when it’s time to leave. He can find his own damn ride home! He’s a grown-ass man who is capable of getting a taxi! (Mind you he lives 125+ miles away).

After I finish my massage, I go on break. When I come back, a supervisor asked for me to head to table 14. I approach the table hoping it was my previous client again but alas and alack! it is Ghetto guy requesting me! He doesn’t really want a massage though, he says as he leans in close. He wants to get to know me because I am a beautiful girl and he knows I’m working so this is how he decides to wooooooo me. The little darling says he’ll pay for 5 minutes of massage (That would be $10, I see about $4 of that, and hope I get a tip) but he doesn’t want me to massage him… he just wants me to touch him. And, baby, does he smell gooooooood!  Like an expired pack of cigarettes all smoked at once with a slight undertone of sweat mingling with a hint of vodka red bull.
Like any good therapist, I use my Peppermint & Lavender scented Badger Balm (from Cracker Barrel, mind you!) on his neck immediately. About two minutes later he turns around and pushes me away: “You have this amazing power to make me feel really high right now. I’m too high for this to play and drunk. I’ll call you back over to get to know you a bit better later. Here’s the money plus a nice tip.” (Total: $15 for 2 minutes.. Meh, I’ll take it)

Not too long later (about 5 hours) I come back around offering massage and the guy takes off his glasses and stands up. He is obviously about to be dramatic and he’s halting the game.

He says “You. Miss Shannon. You rubbed that massage shit on me.”

I say “It’s actually not shit, it’s balm. It’s a lavender and peppermint scent.”

He says “Well I prefer my Burberry more better”

I say “More better huh? Well that’s grammatically correct!”

He says “You talkin shit?”

I say “No sir, I talk truth.”

While the table laughs at my friendly banter and his outraged responses, he accidentally throws some money into the pot and then realizes he wasn’t supposed to do that. His accidental raise caused him to accidentally start swearing toward me and I walked away shaking my head.

Luckily it was my last day there so I didn’t have to worry about the response. . . He was smell and drunk anyway. For shits and giggles (which I already had at this guys expense) I decided to google how much a cab ride would be for this guy to go home:

~$330

🙂 I guess the taxi driver gets the last laugh.

Shit your DAD asks for via Facebook!

This following conversation actually transpired via Facebook (and, as always, for privacy purposes the name of the jerk has been changed):

**”Burt” is the father of a friend of mine “Sam” who I began attending school with in pre-K. Sam’s mother (and wife of ‘Burt) taught me in sunday school. I know this family from my interaction with the religious community.**

  • June 19, 2010

    Burt

    • hey Shannon where can someone go to get a massage from you?

  • June 19, 2010

    Shannon 

    • there are a couple options. i conduct my business out of wherever you are. i offer a mobile massage service. however, if that’s not something you are comfortable with, i’m available at the Citrus Club downtown by request. The price is the same, but i dont get the full pay. It’s $75 there and when i come to you for an hour of swedish massage. if you’d like to call me my number is ***-***-****

  • June 19, 2010

    Burt

    • ok sounds good.So you dont work out of a studio?Is a Sweedish massage relaxation full body?

      *using the phrase ‘full body’ is a red flag for me, which is probably why I didn’t respond to him 2 years ago*

  • March 9,2012

    Burt

    • are you available possibly this weekend for a massage?

  • March 11, 2012

    Shannon 

    • Hi Curt, I’m sorry I just got this message (i’m noticing that I’m not getting notifications for messages lately). I just got back to Tampa and I’ll be here for the first half of the week. I should be back next weekend however. Let me know if you’d like to book something for then.
      Have a great day

  • March 14, 2012

    Burt

    • Hi Shannon can you let me know the different types of massage that you do?THANKS

  • March 17, 2012

    Shannon 

    • I offer swedish (light to medium pressure), deep tissue (medium to firm pressure), and hot stone massage (swedish massage with hot stones incorporated into it)

  • March 17, 2012

    Burt

    • I go to a masseusse she does full body light pressure.I think its Sweedish.

  • March 18, 2012

    Shannon 

    • Light pressure is typically swedish. My “full body” consists of neck back shoulders arms hands legs feet and glute upon request

  • March 19, 2012

    Burt 

    • ok i get your point and thanks.While I really enjoy a really good massage I like full body where EVERY muscle is relaxed.

  • March 19, 2012

    Shannon 

    • great, please do not ever contact me again.

       

       

      ————

      This is not the first time someone’s father has contacted me about such nasty things. A different friend of mine’s (who i was already on egg shells with because her best friend’s husband made a move on me) father commented on several FB pictures of mine saying i looked ‘real good’ and even messaged me to let me know how ‘hot’ he thought I was.

      People, get your nasty dad’s under control.

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