Massage Memoirs: Tales of the Twitch

I think I need to change careers.

Although I love my job, it doesn't provide any blog material. I'm afraid I'd have no readers if I blogged about my typical workday.

Today I analyzed a bunch of channel usage date. You wouldn't believe the outliers! OMG. Did I mentioned that SAS crashed on me 3 times? But I pulled the data into a stacked bar chart in Excel, using the table format. It looked better than putting data labels on the chart.

WAKE UP!!! I'm just making a point.

Now if I were a massage therapist....

"What's the weirdest thing that ever happened when you were giving a massage?" I asked Jo, while she was attacking a knot in my shoulder.

"Well," she began, and for the next 45 minutes I was in complete awe.

"I have blog envy," I moaned.

On a somewhat related note, I wish someone would invent a jump drive for the brain. You could pop it in your ear, like an I-Pod bud, push a button and back-up your brain, or certain portions of it. If I had such a device, I would have saved my conversation with Jo that day as 'massage_blog_material.doc'.

Because when I try and open the document entitled 'massage_blog_material.doc' from the hard drive of my brain, some of the details are missing.

But I do remember Jo telling me the story of the 85-year old Southern lady who came in for her first massage. Jo escorted her to the room and instructed her to get undressed to her 'level of comfort'. She told the lady that she'd be back in a few minutes to start the massage.

When Jo knocked on the door a few minutes later, the woman (let's call her "Betty Sue") said, "Come on in!"   Betty Sue was standing in front of the massage table, naked as the day she was born- 85 years ago. Jo, diplomatically said, "You can get on the table. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Jo left the room, knocked again and Betty Sue said, "Come on in!", however this time she was laying ON TOP OF COVERS, as if she was preparing herself for a pap smear. According to Jo, the only thing more unsettling than seeing a naked octogenarian standing in front of a massage table, was seeing one on top of the table.

But Jo, unlike myself, has excellent giggle control. She maintained her composure and finally got Betty Sue under the sheets, where she could begin the massage.

Keeping your composure is critical when you're a massage therapist. Because sometimes surprises await you. Jo is nonplussed when massaging a man with bra strap marks on his back. And what about the guy who hung his lacy panties on the hook for her to see? Jo yawns..."Whatever..."

But what she does not tolerate are twitchers: the guys who 'twitch their things' during massages (that's exactly how she described it).  Apparently one of these twitchers twitched his thing with such enthusiasm that his thing became exposed.  Jo told him that the massage was over, and then promptly threw up.

Nope. I don't get any twitchers in my nerdling day job. And no flashing octogenarians.  Just data, and charts and meetings.

I have to rely on my life outside of work for blog materials.

Thank God for the asylum I live in. 

Because I don't want to have to look for a new job.  Plus, I'd be a lousy masseuse.  I giggle too much.