I woke the other morning flat on my back but with my head locked at 20-degree angle. It was quirky fun times for a few minutes to walk to the right while facing the left, but the white-hot shooting pains along my neck weren’t tolerable.
I got to work and decided that some kind of therapy was required at lunchtime. The only place I’d walked past during lunch breaks was Vigorous Thai Massage – have you ever seen a business, wondered if it was legitimate and decided to walk past rather than risk the alternate service you suspect is on offer? When I lived interstate, the unsustainably-quiet-during-the-day Turkish bread shop was closed one morning and the neighour said that police conducted a raid the previous night as the (producer of delicious bread, admittedly) business was a front for the one of the largest heroin dealerships in southern Sydney. See, it happens!
The Vigorous Thai Massage shopfront wasn’t top of my mind as far as illegal activities, but I’ve heard enough stories from travellers to Thailand being offered more than they bargained for when captive and relaxed on the massage table. I stood at the front window, did a quick risk assessment on the discomfort in my neck region compared with the risk of being locked in a small room and having additional services offered and thought, damn it, live a little.
The young man running operations at the front desk helped me select a neck and shoulder treatment and barked orders to, “Get in the room, top off, bra off and face down.” I sighed with relief that his brusque efficiency screamed of professional services and not happy endings, so I arranged myself in the required manner and waited quietly.
Then a woman entered the room stealthily, closed the door behind her with a gentle click and climbed on the bench with her legs spread across my back.
Perhaps my earlier suspicions were correct!
Shut up, imagination!
I’m just sayin’!
Be quiet and just breathe! And don’t say that loathsome “I’m just sayin’” phrase ever again!
The first tiny fist of steel that pressed my rib through a lung reassured me that we weren’t there for fun. A second hand forced a rib on the other side to skewer my heart through my liver into an organ kebab and all was fine.
The rearrangement of my chest organs felt good afterwards but my neck still hurt for a couple of days.
Crank-o-meter: achey breaky