Kendallkasey's Blog











{June 21, 2010}   Tinkle Tinkle Little Star

I think I’m pretty laid back when it comes to people and their behavior (I have to be in this line of work), but there are times when even I have to take a deep breath, curse so low my client can’t hear me, and just walk away before I haul off and hit them. There are so many types of people I deal with, it builds up my immunity to the weird, mean, gross and disgusting, but there are some times that all this immunity I have against the evil people makes no difference at all. They manage to get under my skin and annoy me so I never want to return to the office again, but sometimes they make me laugh so freakin’ hard I want to go back and see what happens the next day.

There’s this lady who really just rubs me the wrong way – ha, ha, ha. The way she moves, the way she talks, and what she says are just a few things that get under my skin. While lying on the table face down, she kicks her legs vigorously, her feet kicking so hard making the  most annoying sound over and over and over. There are times I almost scream “STOP KICKING YOUR LEGS, YOU JERK!!!” I haven’t done that yet, but God, I want to! She doesn’t stop talking from the time she walks in the office, never staying on one subject longer than a minute and a half. She tells me she has restless leg syndrome, but I want to ask her if she’s sure doesn’t have ADHD as well. All signs I see point to yes. Then, what she talks about I cannot write, but I will say this – it’s totally inappropriate for any age to read. She has the ability to offend any age, race, or gender, and she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. She was not taught that words have such an impact on people’s feelings.

So, you now know that I am writing about a woman who kicks her legs non stop, talks just as much as she kicks, and she talks about subjects totally off limits. Oh yeah, she talks really loud. Like, really, really loud. I’m massaging this woman one sunny afternoon, she was talking and would just not shut up, and I was not listening to her like I had grown accustomed to doing. Blah, blah, blah. Rub, rub, rub. I shorted her five minutes because she started running her mouth, and kicking her legs like she was swimming an olympic size swimming pool. I told her I was done and that I would meet her up at the front. I exited the room quickly, and then met the chiropractor I work with out in the hall.

He and I were talking about what she wanted to talk about, what I allowed her to talk about, and what I blocked out. As he and I were laughing, all of a sudden the door to the room she was in flew open and there she was holding the garbage bag that used to be in my trash can. She walked up to me and handed the bag without saying a word.

“You don’t have to take the garbage out,” I told her.

“Oh yes I do, trust me,” she said.

“Why? What did you do?” I asked.

“I peed in it,” she admitted.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I have wondered that for quite a while, and now after you peed in my trash can, I think I have enough of a reason to ask,” I said.

“I just couldn’t make it to the bathroom, that’s all,” she said.

“No, that’s not all. You have a problem. You can’t control your legs, your language, and apparently, you can’t control your piss. You will take that out to the dumpster. I’ll show you where it is,” I told her.

What the f%*k is wrong with some people? I could not believe I was looking at a garbage bag full of pee pee. A) The bag was one of those thin kind, so at any moment it could give way with what was once in her bladder. B) Most women have bad aim, and if you’re a woman you know by the condition of public toilet seats. Most likely she dripped yellow liquid all over the bag, inside and out, and I was not touching it.

She walked the bag out to the dumpster and did not walk back into the office – that day. She came back and wanted more massage. I’m not good at saying no so there she was, kicking and screaming. The piss never came up in conversation again, and she never took a piss in my bag again either.



{April 2, 2010}   Moan and Groan

I typically work late into the evening, and beyond 6pm I am all by myself. I’m asked continuously if I’m scared of being attacked by creepy men, or women for that matter, but I am very careful and selective when it comes to my evening clients. There was this one time this guy somehow slipped through the cracks, but he was referred by several of his coworkers I massaged so I thought he would be okay.

My first impression of this guy wasn’t the best, not because he was creepy, but because he was so rude. I walked into the lobby and approached the chair he was sitting in with an outstretched hand to introduce myself. I received nothing in return but an index finger pointing to the sky telling me to “hold on” as his acne scarred face looked down at his cell phone. Hold on? Seriously? I stay here until ungodly hours of the night, and all I get is a hold on? Oh, you have got to be kidding me!

I walked the asshole back to the massage room as he made a phone call right in the middle of a question I was trying to ask him. Once we were at the door to my room I told him exactly how I needed him to undress, well you know, so there would be no expecting the sex – “sexpectin”. I was almost out of the room to go find some Valium, but he called me back in to ask if I did “specific nude gluteal work”. Haaaaa! Where the Hell did he think he was?

“No there will not be any “nude gluteal work” done here – EVER! Which coworker told you that could be a possibility?” I screamed. He jumped back a foot.

“None of them”, he said. “You don’t have to mention this to any of ’em, okay?” he was practically begging he sounded so desperate, and was looking sort of sweaty all of a sudden.

I left him to get ready, and I took a while coming back in hopes of his sweat seeping into his pock marks, leaving me with a dry back to work on. I walked into the room and he said,”I thought you’d never come” in this deep I’m trying too hard to sound sexy voice. I thought I might vomit, but swallowed it back. This would be a long hour.

I should have done some preliminary work before using massage oil on his back because he came well equipped with his own bodily secretions. As I worked my way down his spine, I’m sure I looked like a Jeep going off-road as he was the bumpiest weirdo I had ever laid my hands on. Hell, he was the bumpiest person, weird or normal, I had ever touched! I guess I shouldn’t fault a man for something he probably couldn’t control, but his whole persona made me dislike him, and when I dislike someone I naturally attack something they really can’t help. I’m kind of a bitch like that, but then again, if you aren’t weird, creepy, an asshole, mean, stupid, etc. then you have nothing to worry about.

As I was coming back up to finish off one of the most wonderful massage moves ever created (seriously almost orgasmic) I thought for a split second he did have an orgasm. What came out of this man’s mouth, diaphragm really, was almost embarrassing, for both of us. “OOOOOHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMM YEAH!” he screamed. He sounded like a really old, ancient vacuum cleaner being powered down. At that moment I was so happy it was only he and I because the sound that came from somewhere deep within him made me feel so wrong, and I can only imagine what others would have thought on the other side of the door.

The moaning and groaning continued for what seemed to be an eternity, and every time I heard another horrible, exaggerated explosion of his pleasure being released for my listening enjoyment, I knew he really thought highly of himself. Suddenly the mood of the massage shifted, and he actually began a conversation. Although it was about himself, talking was so much better than listening to him make barbaric noises every other second. He propped his disgusting, oil laden body up and looked right at me before he spoke.

“I have a great group of people who I would love for you to meet, and I mean, they have just helped me so much. I know that with a lot of time with this group you will be able to break free from all of the negativity I can feel in this room. You don’t even know how much is pouring out of you right now, I didn’t know how much I was carrying around with me, well, until my group set me free”, Moan and Groan so eloquently explained as he cried. “My dad and I have reconnected after too many years to even count, and that’s just amazing. They will offer you so much, and I will pay for your first meeting just so you can see how awesome these people are,” he cried on.

“Dude, I don’t have to pay people to be friends with me, and the only reason you feel all of this negativity you speak of is because you are on my table right now. I’m not comfortable with such loud expressions, I guess you could say. That’s not proper massage etiquette, just to let you know”, I told him.

He was still crying. There are situations when it’s totally fine for men to cry, for instance, on his wedding day, or the birth of his child, but at a massage? Not only that, but, the first time he has a massage with the therapist and the tears start flowing with no end in sight is just odd. I can totally believe he didn’t have a relationship with his father because if he did, his father would have told him to man up and save the tears for something to really cry about. (See, I am a real bitch when you aren’t a normal person to begin with). Moan and Groan got a little testy then.

“You DO NOT pay these people to be friends with you! This is an organization that purifies one’s outlook on life.”

“Okay, the massage is over. I will meet you up at the front, okay?” I walked out of the room so he couldn’t say another word.

Once at the check out counter, “Moan and Groan’s” mood changed again. This dude was as bad as Britney Spears when she’s PMSing, maybe even worse since he didn’t bother to wipe the tears before he approached me. Oh, wait just a minute! Those were fresh tears, and I could sense yet another lecture about letting go of my anger.

“I do apologize about that back there. I, uh, know I got carried away, and I came on too strong. I really want you to know how sorry I am, but I would like to make it up to you by paying for your first class.”

“Look, I appreciate one’s passion and ability to commit themselves to something, anything really, but I am not going to your group counseling.” I figured if I related it to psychological help he would get pissed and never come back, but instead he smiled and pulled the “kill ’em with kindness” routine.

“Okay, that’s okay. I would like to make another appointment because I am not giving up on you. Do you have anything available next week?”

I set him up with his appointment, and he was on his way as I immediately began thinking of reasons I could use to cancel him. Yes, massage therapists do that all of the time. Wouldn’t you?



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