Massage By Blind Masseurs
I hurt my back on Sunday stuffing envelopes (pause so you can finish laughing and continue reading). It hurt so bad that I took myself out of our soccer match - the first time I have ever taken myself out voluntarily. I broke my nose in the first half of a game in high school and finished the match, then had my nose surgically repaired the next week. Suffice it to say - my back was hurting real bad.
Anyway, I live in China now, and everyone kept telling me I should get a massage. Massages in China are cheap and abundant. My friends who have lived here for a while recommended that I either a) take someone else with me, or b) go to a blind masseuse. Both suggestions are to avoid stumbling upon something that is, shall we say, more than just a massage. As it turns out, there is a Blind Man Massage place right across the street from our apartment. So, against my own better judgment, I went. Let me just say that it was my first ever, and last ever massage.
When someone mentions the idea of a massage the descriptors that people use are: wonderful, relaxing, heavenly, etc. Let me explain my experience and then we will compile a new list of descriptors. I walk in to the "parlor" and tell the man, in the best Chinese I can muster, that I have pain in my lower back and would like a 30 minute massage (now that I look back on it - I think a full hour might have ended my life). The place is no frills. Don't get me wrong, it was plenty clean, it just looked more like the mental hospital in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest than Charles Penzone's Spa. So I was instructed to lay on the table and the receptionist lead in a blind man, sunglasses and all, in a white lab coat.
For the next half hour this man proceeded to attack my lower back with all the force and fury of a greco-roman wrestler. At one point in the "procedure" he even took his free hand and gripped the other side of the bed to put more pressure on a certain point - as if the entire weight of his body was not enough. It was at that moment that I let out a universally understood grunt of pain, at which time he relented, only to attack me again at a different point in a different manner. At the end of the 30 minutes rolled over to see this man dripping with sweat. And for good reason!
Let me sum it up by saying this. I have a tattoo on my back. For those of you who have never been tattooed it feels like the tattoo is being applied with a router or a chisel and the design is being cut out of you. My 30 minute tattoo session was substantially less painful than my 30 minute massage.
Was it good for my back, you ask? I think the pain in my back is beyond fixing with a massage. I was able to ride my bike to school again the next day. I may even be able to play soccer this Sunday. It did not help enough so that if my back is ever again I will go back. So, in closing, if someone ever asks me to describe a massage you will hear these words: 30 minutes could not have gone any slower, my kidneys were so mad at me, excruciating, more painful than anything I have experienced in a dentist's chair, and finally - never again! The good news was that it only cost 35 rmb ($5.14).
Anyway, I live in China now, and everyone kept telling me I should get a massage. Massages in China are cheap and abundant. My friends who have lived here for a while recommended that I either a) take someone else with me, or b) go to a blind masseuse. Both suggestions are to avoid stumbling upon something that is, shall we say, more than just a massage. As it turns out, there is a Blind Man Massage place right across the street from our apartment. So, against my own better judgment, I went. Let me just say that it was my first ever, and last ever massage.
When someone mentions the idea of a massage the descriptors that people use are: wonderful, relaxing, heavenly, etc. Let me explain my experience and then we will compile a new list of descriptors. I walk in to the "parlor" and tell the man, in the best Chinese I can muster, that I have pain in my lower back and would like a 30 minute massage (now that I look back on it - I think a full hour might have ended my life). The place is no frills. Don't get me wrong, it was plenty clean, it just looked more like the mental hospital in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest than Charles Penzone's Spa. So I was instructed to lay on the table and the receptionist lead in a blind man, sunglasses and all, in a white lab coat.
For the next half hour this man proceeded to attack my lower back with all the force and fury of a greco-roman wrestler. At one point in the "procedure" he even took his free hand and gripped the other side of the bed to put more pressure on a certain point - as if the entire weight of his body was not enough. It was at that moment that I let out a universally understood grunt of pain, at which time he relented, only to attack me again at a different point in a different manner. At the end of the 30 minutes rolled over to see this man dripping with sweat. And for good reason!
Let me sum it up by saying this. I have a tattoo on my back. For those of you who have never been tattooed it feels like the tattoo is being applied with a router or a chisel and the design is being cut out of you. My 30 minute tattoo session was substantially less painful than my 30 minute massage.
Was it good for my back, you ask? I think the pain in my back is beyond fixing with a massage. I was able to ride my bike to school again the next day. I may even be able to play soccer this Sunday. It did not help enough so that if my back is ever again I will go back. So, in closing, if someone ever asks me to describe a massage you will hear these words: 30 minutes could not have gone any slower, my kidneys were so mad at me, excruciating, more painful than anything I have experienced in a dentist's chair, and finally - never again! The good news was that it only cost 35 rmb ($5.14).
Comments
Post a Comment