Kendallkasey's Blog

{August 10, 2010}   First Massage Client Ever

I’ll never forget the very first client I massaged, but I wish I could. If I didn’t have so much time and money invested in my massage education I would have walked out before I even touched the crazy woman who walked into the office that day. I was all by myself on a Saturday without a receptionist, the other massage therapist I worked with, or the chiropractor I worked for. I arrived twenty minutes before her scheduled appointment because I was ready to finally start my career!

I waited behind our front desk, and waited, and waited. Fifteen minutes into her scheduled time I heard a rumble and looked out the picture window just in time to see my client fly into our parking lot driving a van too big for her tiny body; she could barely see over the steering wheel. She climbed out of the driver’s seat like she was on a ladder. The door was blocking most of her body, leaving only her right foot in sight as it searched for the ground below; it made contact and then the left one followed. I was able to get a better look at her while she walked across the front of the van to the passenger side. I’d never seen anyone look so sloppy, her clothes hanging off of her thin body and stringy hair hanging from her head. I had no idea they made bags as big as the one she had on her shoulder; the bottom of it met the middle of her shin.  She marched into the office with a purpose.

“I’m gonna piss down my leg this very second if I don’t get to a toilet!” she yelled in what sounded like an English accent.

On her way to the bathroom she dropped her bag, belongings now scattered everywhere. She also left the smell of patchouli lingering in the air. Ten minutes later she zoomed out of the bathroom as fast as she came into the office.

“Man, oh, man! I sit to pee, and those beans just snuck up on me! Are you a vegan? You look like one – you’re too smart to eat meat, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Have you had a massage before?” I asked her, skipping over her question.

“Of course! In fact, I used to see that other therapist you work with, but I don’t ever want to see her again – rubbed me the wrong way! Let’s see if you make the cut, and if you do, I’ll be yours for life!” she boasted.

“Fantastic,” I said, trying hard to hold back tears. I couldn’t imagine this woman being the type of client anyone would look forward to.

 She followed me to the massage room, and as I tried to tell her how to prepare for the massage she kicked me out, claiming she knew the drill. As I walked away I told myself I would stay positive about my first experience on the job, but my personal pep talk didn’t last long. The door of her room opened, and unfortunately, I turned around. There she was, standing in front of me baring every inch of her naked, sagging body.

“What are you doing?!” I asked her, each word louder than the last.

“Those beans are back!” she screamed, then she turned around – fast – and made her way to the bathroom. Each step she took was accompanied by a musical toot, and as I stood and watched her move to her gassy symphony, I made a mental note never to run anywhere while completely naked. There were things shaking on her that no one should have to witness.

Twenty minutes later I finally had her on the table with only a few minutes left of the scheduled appointment time, and after informing her of this she begged me to go over into the next hour, promising to pay extra. I agreed because she was my only client that day and I was a newbie – I needed all the hours I could get. 

We were now into the second hour, and I began massaging her arm as she was lying on her stomach. I moved her arm away from her body and at the same time that I saw the harriest arm pit in the world, I smelled a combination of dirty human, and even more patchouli than when she first walked in. I looked up and started to take deep breaths in and out. I had a feeling she hadn’t taken a shower since 1973. I finished her arm and started on the other side of her back, and as soon as I did she spoke.

“Now, my bum has really been a hurtin’ on that side. Get in that cheek with your elbow, will ya? Ha! Get it? I’m gonna let you get cheeky!” she was quite amused at her little joke.

“Yeah, thanks for letting me, uh, get in there,” I said, wondering if she noted the lack of excitement in my voice.

Damn it. I knew all about the beans she had at lunch, and I did not want to go anywhere near her “bum”. She asked me again with more persistence after I pretended not to hear her the first time. She probably thought I was deaf as much as I ignored her comments. I had no choice – I was goin’ in. I moved toward her hip slowly, taking my time to get there, and as I inched closer she started rocking her body from left to right, bringing one side of her body off of the table, and then the other. I had no idea what she was doing so I stood up, crossed my arms and leaned against the wall to try to figure it out.

“What are you doing? I can’t keep my balance if you can’t keep still,” I said.

“What do you mean? I’m not doing a thing.” she replied.

“Just stop moving because I can’t work like that!” I was trying hard not to yell, but I was annoyed.

She said nothing, but stopped the rocking immediately after my mini outburst. I made my way down to her hip area, and as soon as I applied the first bit of pressure she passed gas right in my face. There was such an offensive smell that filled the room, but my client was anything but offended.

“See that?” she asked.

“No, but I heard it and I smell it,” I answered.

“You’re workin’ my digestive system. I love comin’ here after a meal because all of the-”

“Beans?,” I cut her off.

“Yes! How did you know?” she sounded ecstatic.

“Lucky guess.”

 Still lying on her stomach, it was time to massage her legs. When I lifted the sheet I did a double take because they were as hairy as my husband’s. I made sure to triple the amount of oil I usually used for smooth extremities, and after I thought I had enough I made the first stroke up toward her buttocks. I was expecting it to be a smooth, gliding stroke, but I was stopped short just before I got to the back of the knee. I created so much friction I thought for sure there would be a trail of smoke behind my now red, raw palms. I got more oil and tried again. Much better.

I was using proper body mechanics so my upper body was close to her legs as I worked, being careful not to bend at my waist. As I was working on her upper leg I must have hit a sensitive spot because all at once she yelped as her knee bent and her lower leg came toward me. She kicked me in my temple with the heel of her foot.

“What the hell lady?” I asked her, standing up and backing away.

“Oh! You hit a spot and my goodness! My reflexes sure are in check though!,” she answered me.

My head hurt, I was exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was touch her again. I told her the massage was over, and I explained I would meet her up front as I walked out of the room. She began to protest, but I didn’t wait around to hear anything else she had to say because I knew I might say something I’d regret. I went to the bathroom to wash the oily hair off and when I looked in the mirror I saw blood coming from the side of my head. Her feet must have been so callused they cut me! I cleaned up, grabbed my purse, and marched up to the check out desk to find my client waiting for me with her huge bag hanging from one shoulder. I had a feeling she was going to let me have it after walking out of the room so suddenly.

“You!” she shouted.

“I know, I know, I-“, I was cut off.

“That was the best massage I’ve ever had! I’d like to come back next week!” she exclaimed.

I decided right then that I would have rather been yelled at. I was so tired! This woman was like watching a two-year old, in fact, my daughter was two and she was better behaved! As I said before, I was new and I needed all the clients I could get so I really had no choice.

“When would you like to come back in?” I asked.


Five years later this client is still on my schedule. She acts the same way exact way today as she did when she came in for the first time. I always remember to take a Valium before I massage her or she ends up doing or saying something to upset me. I will admit, she has given me a lot to write about!


{August 3, 2010}   It’s Not All Bad

If you have followed me from the start you probably noticed I haven’t said one positive thing about being a massage therapist, but there has to be a bright side to the profession, right? I don’t know anyone who would put up with these people if there wasn’t something worthwhile about it.

As many strange, rude and disgusting people I have on my schedule that make my job miserable, it’s the kind and thoughtful people I see that make me want to come back. I met a woman named Candy almost three years ago, and when I think about her first massage I smile because I had no idea she would change my life forever. Her massage started just like everyone else’s, pleasantries exchanged, she told me some of her health history and where she was hurting, but then as I massaged her we began talking and I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation. She rescheduled for the following week, and I was so thankful I had another “good one” to look forward to.

I would not be writing my book if it weren’t for Candy. She has inspired me in so many ways, and one of the most important lessons she has taught me is to go after what you want until you get it. She is a writer as well, and she understands me on a level a lot of people don’t. I can go to her and talk to her about the frustrations of being a writer, but I can also share my triumphs with her because she is just as happy as I am when I experience the joys of writing. A friend who is truly happy for you and feels no jealousy towards you during the good times is hard to come by.  

Candy is such a wonderful mother of three amazing kids, one girl and two boys. I hope my kids stay on the path they are on now, but it’s so hard to tell exactly what lies in your children’s future. I know when I am worried or stressed about my kids, or if I am proud of something they accomplished, I can go right to Candy and tell her. She is always there to give me advice, celebrate with me when they have done a good job at school, or calm me down when I start to worry about them.

Without Candy, my family and I would not be as involved in our community. There has never been a Christmas that we didn’t donate toys, or a Thanksgiving we forgot to bring cans by a food bank, but Candy makes me want to do more than the minimum. I see how she has touched people’s lives through the non-profit she started, and I realized there is so much more I can be doing. Candy makes me want to be a better person, she makes me want to give more to those in need and love those who just need a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand to get through a hard time.

Without massage, I don’t know if Candy and I would have ever met. I believe every single person who has come into my life, has for a reason. Maybe the sole purpose that some of my clients have wound up on my table was to make my blog more enjoyable to write and even funnier to read, but for people who started out as clients and have become friends, you serve a greater purpose. You have made my life more enjoyable, you have made me a better person, and massage therapy a lot easier to handle.

{July 24, 2010}   Medusa

In my previous post I compared massage clients to a street walker’s “corner” because that is exactly how some massage therapists treat their clients. The first two years that I worked in the office I currently practice in, there was another massage therapist who practiced there as well. For my own safety we will call her Medusa since her hair was a pile of tight springy curls on top of her head. In fact, she not only practiced there, she was the massage manager and the one who hired me even though I had two months left in massage school.
While I finished school I worked in the chiropractic side, but in my free time learned the massage ropes. I thought this was the best thing that had ever happened to me, until I actually got my license and was able to start practicing.
Medusa went from being the sweet massage chick who was gracious enough to take a chance on the newbie, to hating every fiber of my being overnight. I couldn’t do anything right. I tried so hard to help her with anything she needed such as checking messages, changing her sheets, and doing the laundry. She saw it as taking over her practice.
One afternoon she came back from the gym and walked into the office we shared. I was on the phone, completely oblivious to the fact I needed to be very afraid of her and what she was about to do. Medusa walked right over, hung up my call, and grabbed the receiver out of my hand, slamming it down on the base.
“What the fuck are you doing?!?” she asked.
“I was talking to my-”
“You better make the right decision right now and NOT lie to me. I know you were talking to my client!” she screamed.
I didn’t say anything. She had a crazy look in her eye, and I knew whatever came out of my mouth would not be believed. I got up to walk past her, but that wasn’t the right thing to do either. Medusa blocked my path and I quickly tried to fake her out and pass around her other side.
“Sit down!!” she was screaming again.
I did what she told me to even though I could have picked her tiny troll self up and body slammed her into the wood floor. That image was stuck in my head – the idea was sounding better by the second.
“I know what you’re trying to do. I know you want everything I have and I’m not going to let you have it! You think you’re so awesome with your perfect little family, all of your education, blah, blah, blah!” she was now shaking as she yelled. I just kept listening.
“You will NOT touch that phone again – do you understand me? Are we clear?”
“Yeah, I don’t have to use your stupid phone,” I told her as I rolled my eyes. That was a big mistake. She lunged at me and put her hand over my mouth. I wanted to bite her so bad, but the way she was acting I was scared I might contract some disease that makes you go nuts.
“Don’t you EVER use that tone with me again. Do you understand me?”
I couldn’t talk because her nasty hand was still over my mouth so I just nodded my head.
“One more thing… If I even see you look at one of my clients, this is nothing compared to what I will do to you. Do you get me?” Medusa’s nostrils were flared and she was spitting as she talked.
At that moment the chiropractor walked in and Medusa released me from her hold and walked away like she was an innocent little angel. The rest of the day was normal, and I said nothing about what she did.
A week later there was a message on the phone that she and I “shared” in our office. I asked her if she could check it because it might be a client I was waiting for to call.
“You can check it, silly goose, it’s your phone too!” she said with a smile.
Good God, what have I gotten myself into??

Keep reading for more stories about crazy clients and the massage therapist I worked with!!

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{May 26, 2010}   Breasticles

I don’t know what it is about my job, but it seems like every other woman I massage wants me to look at their breasts, feel their breasts or talk about their breasts. You would think it would only be the ones with fake boobs, but it’s not. Real, fake, big or small, it just doesn’t matter. I don’t know whether it’s a confidence issue, or if they are just so damn proud of their girls they want everyone to know how awesome they are.

Ive always heard guys say that more than and handful (or a mouthful if they are being dirty) is too much, and that makes sense to me. A boob is a boob is a boob, and I think guys like them no matter what. There was a time when I wanted bigger ones. From the age of 12 I prayed for boobs before I went to sleep every night in hopes I would wake up with a bigger chest, but as I met more and more women on my table that were obsessed with their mammary glands, the less I wanted to be well endowed in the northern regions.

I believe there is more to me than a set tits. Don’t get me wrong, if one day my prayers were answered, and I magically needed to go buy new, larger bras I wouldn’t be upset, but I’m not going to run out to my nearest plastic surgeon and hop on their table either. I don’t want to be like these surface women who become their breasts, whose lives revolve around them. I love being respected for being a great person, a wonderful mom, a caring wife, and a kind friend. By the way, the Gel Bra by Victoria’s Secret makes the previous statement a lot easier to write.

et cetera