The Roadside Massage

I rarely get a massage. But when I do, I spend top dollar to ensure basic things -- a calming experience, a clean environment, and of course, free amenities (cucumber-infused water, warm towels, steam rooms, hot tubs, bottled lotions ... the works). When I spend the money and treat myself, it's not just a 50-minute experience, it's a complete, fun-filled day of beauty. So the last thing I would ever want to do is call a number off a roadside billboard and ask a stranger to strip me down and climb all over my body.

Naturally, that's exactly where this blog begins.

Every day on my drive to work I pass a number of sketchy roadside massage signs and have always cringed at the idea. The tackiness of the billboard alone, and the fact that it lives on the back of a truck -- I can't even imagine calling the number to book my own abduction.

So, I did it. I pulled over .... and ....

... called the number. Expecting to be dialing a seedy bathhouse, I was pleasantly surprised to hear "Oasis Spa, how can I help you?" on the other end. Oasis Spa? Wow. An Oasis. No one gets molested and murdered in an oasis.

So, I jotted the address down and was on my way ... of course, as I drove, I passed several more signs. Oh, it looks like they also offer Foot-Thai Swedish ... whatever that is.

Hmmmmm ... driving closer .... you can say I totally freaked out when I saw THIS ...

Yes, that would be my luscious oasis ... nestled between a serene parking lot and an intoxicating liquor store.

I parked across the street trying to stay positive. As I walked up to the door I saw they also offer teeth whitening, tanning and manicures. This is like the Costco of shitty beauty treatments.

Inside, I was greeted by the boss of the establishment -- an obese white man sitting behind the counter, covered in tattoos with a nose piercing and a lip ring. The decor of the room, with tchotskies of golden Buddah's, striped tigers and emerald cats filled the room -- reminiscent of a super cheap Chinese restaurant and a "Everything Under $5" store in downtown's Santee Alley.

I was immediately told $50. Cash only. Up front. This was starting to sound more and more like an illegal transaction. Um ... as someone who survives on her AMEX and only carries cash when expecting to valet, this was a problem. The Massage Master (aka tat-covered pimp daddy) pointed to the ATM sitting next to the bonsai display. Ok. So, I sucked it up and paid the $2.95 fee.

Completely nervous, I asked if I could use the bathroom (figuring if it was a complete shit hole, I would still have time to run out) and was pointed to a dark hallway. I was told when I was done to just wait and someone would meet me.


Waiting in the back disco hallway, a tiny Asian girl appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and asked, "What kind of massage you want?" (I could barely hear her she spoke so softly) I said, "Whatever's the best." She said, "Combination, Thai Swedish." Of course, I remember seeing that on the sign outside the McDonald's drive thru. That MUST be the way to go. She said, "come this way," and ...

My tranquil, harmonious experience was about to begin beyond this door ...

... and into a pitch black room with orgasmic moans.

To be continued...