Actually, John the Chinese Reflexologist vs. Me. I won. Battle wounds and all.
I had been on a three or four day hiatus from working out aside from eating (and fork lifting to eat) so I decided to take my lazy bum to the gym earlier today. My body was not having it. I arrived, parked, and sat in the car for approximately 10 minutes. After playing on my phone, I stared at the entrance, shook my head, turned on the ignition, and backed out.
What a work out! Gym rats ain’t got nothin’ on me.
Instead, I convinced myself I needed a massage. I made my way to Xi’an Foot Reflexology near the house. It came highly recommended, by the way! I sat in my car upon arrival and contemplated whether or not I should even enter. The place looked shady (perhaps I’d been too spoiled by the fanciness of American spas).
There it is… Itty bitty questionable corner…
Eventually I turned off the ignition and walked toward the entrance. No one was inside except an older Caucasian gentleman (aren’t you supposed to be Asian??) at the front desk. Then a young Asian woman and an older Asian gentleman emerged from the back “door.” Two panels of cloth = door. That’s how Asians roll – you all know this! She looked like she had either fallen asleep to the beat of his drums or gotten a horrible beat down from him. Either way, I should have heeded her facial expressions. And ran.
The young woman paid while the Asian gentleman gave me a hard stare and motioned at me to go through the panels. He kept nodding and repeating “massage, massage?” Heavy accent and all. I stared back, somewhat taken aback and terrified, and stated I had never been. Something wasn’t right (again, spoiled brat here)… But nevertheless, I allowed myself to be ushered through the panels into a dark “room” that contained about six recliners. There were two or three recliners occupied and just as many masseuse working.
I was told to seat myself on one of the empty recliners as he went behind a wall and ran some water. Lo and behold, he came back with a small bucket… yes, a bucket… of lukewarm water. I don’t know what I was expecting but it was not a bucket, that’s for sure. My feet almost morphed into one as it was such a small space. Really.
Never once was I told to unclothe myself. A bit different then my usual massages but that’s fine with me. The less you see, the less violated I feel. Okay, nevermind. John does not care. He massaged my bum as if it were his own. Or his wife’s for that matter.
John then began working on my head, face, neck, and shoulders while my feet soaked.
Oh. My. GOODNESS.
The man obviously thought he was going to war with my body or something because that was no massage. No, no, no. It was a beat down, beat up, knock out. Whatever. He uttered the words “tired” so many times during his work on my neck and shoulders that it began sounding weird. Yes, I get that I am exhausted and my body really needs this “massage.” I get it! But damn, I definitely did not need a 150 lb man laying his entire weight on my shoulders, back, and lower back. And get off my ass.
After my foot reflexology massage, he commanded I flip over and put my face in the hole that seemed to have magically appeared in the head of the recliner. I did so. Thus began my silent journey into an even more excruciatingly painful abyss. Or so it felt. I had not complained about how painful he was for the first 50 minutes so I felt I couldn’t complain now. Not after having been tortured for so long! I was not about to let him think I’m a pussy at this point. No. I don’t even know what the man did to my back but some parts felt as if my organs were crushed and other parts as if they were squeezed out of my sides. Several times during this last leg of the race, my eyes nearly bulged out of its sockets and I had to catch my breathe.
Lord have mercy.
I was utterly crushed. More than once. But nope, not a peep was going to come from this soldier. Not today anyway.
Finally. The man finishes. I never thanked anyone so quickly. I stumbled out in a daze, not so much because I was relaxed but more so because I felt like I had just fought in a war and survived. Chinese vs. Vietnamese. I did not cry, scream, or beg him to lower his pressure on my body. I. Had. WON. Take that John. In yo face. BAM!
Okay so perhaps John won. He got paid to give me the beating of my life. And tipped for it too. Damn.
Somehow I emerged from the agonizing experience with a bruise on my right shin. He must have done a number on it. I am not surprised my neck, shoulders, and back are now severely sore. The knots are still present but they are probably scared shitless of John… I can’t say I blame them. Perhaps next time he will get rid of them. For good.
Punch card! Ten torturous visits and get a 30 minute foot reflexology massage!
For $30, I receive a 75 minute massage (he worked 15 minutes beyond his time limit with me). And that’s full price ladies and gents. Yes, I’d definitely come back but maybe voice my opinions at the beginning. Or else I’d attempt to battle it out silently again. Don’t do it folks. Just… don’t. Silence is never the answer.
On a more pleasant note, my other half sent me flowers the other day! :)
Just because! ♥