Chinese Massage

I'd like to say I chucked a sickie today but I think the term only applies if you're faking it, which I wasn't. As I've mentioned before, the aussies chuck sickies left right and centre, and they make very good use of their family leave policies as well because my manager Jackie admitted to taking a family day last week even though she has no children. She was just fed up, she wanted to finish a college assignment.

Anyway, it was nothing serious, just an upset tummy; bad enough to make me stay away from work but not bad enough to confine me to the house, if you see what I mean.

So this morning I went to Coles at Maroubra to do the weekly shop (or rather, the fortnightly panic when we run out of milk), though with a bit of time on my hands I wandered over to the Chinese medical centre in the mall to have a look at the massage menu.

My colleague Julie swears by the Chinese massage man at Bondi beach because, she says, her back is full of knots and the Chinese man sorts her out. I always wonder how these massage people define knots because when my friend Sally got married, we had a pampering afternoon as part of her hen party down in Hampshire and the mobile massage lady diagnosed my back as being full of knots as well. I've asked Darren for the medical take on this but as with most alternative/new-age/holisic therapy, he says it's all bollocks and thinks I should spend his money elsewhere. All bollocks, that is, with the exception of hypnosis (which he believes in) and acupuncture (which he's not sure about either way). And don't even get him started on cranial osteopathy.

Anyway, as I don't have the time to seek out this man at Bondi, I have to take my opportunities as they arise and opted for a neck and shoulder massage, you know, to pamper myself.

The man on the desk was wearing a white coat and glasses and looked more like a physics undergraduate than a masseuse. He showed me to a treatment table surrounded by a curtain and gave me an ironing basket, instructing me to put my bag and cardigan in there, then he stowed it away on a bench under the treatment table and made me lie on my stomach.

And that's when it all started to go wrong because it was one of those beds with a hole for your face and if you've ever tried to lie on one, you'll know your face pokes through and your cheeks get all squashed. And if they really manage to relax you, you end up actually dribbling onto the carpet, though there's no way you can wipe your mouth because your hands are elsewhere.

And then he started, first by placing a warm towel along my back and then by applying so much pressure I heard something pop and thought he'd cracked a rib.

"Ow - that hurts" I shouted

"Wewax" he replied.

"I can't relax, you're hurting me"

"This your first time?"

"Yes"

"It hurts first time you have Chinese massage. It might be your muscles"

"Can you apply a bit less pressure please?"

Through the hole in the bed, I could see the washing basket with my bag and cardigan in it(and a bag of fish because I'd just been to the fishmonger) so I grabbed onto that with both hands and prayed it would soon be over, all the while they're playing this pseudo-relaxing plinky plonky music and I'm supposed to be lying there in a state of serene wewaxation but I'm not because I'm grabbing onto a washing basket full of fish with my face squashed into a little hole and worrying ever-so-slightly how I'll get out of this situation should the dicky tummy start playing up again.

When it was all over he did those chopping movements down my back, movements I'm convinced serve no useful purpose, then charged me $15.

I swear that's the last time a Chinese person touches me ever again. I hobbled round Coles picking up fruit and veggies and milk and winced all the way home.