Kendallkasey's Blog











I walked into what was a normal massage with a normal guy. As far as personality goes, he was alright, nothing to write home about, or in this case, write in my blog about. I started on the right side of his back absent mindedly, finished up, then went to the right side. Before I began, he spoke.

“I have the biggest pain in my shoulder-blade on this side. It would be great if you could work it out.”

“I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

I started massaging the right side, and I came across a knot that felt so weird I got close to his back so I could see better in my dark room. I got a good look at the knot alright, a better look than I could have ever wanted! It was a zit the size of a soccer ball, and it was ready to go. This zit looked like a bunch of small zits that formed one large super zit. You could say it was the perfect storm of zits. The white head on that thing needed to be popped, and I was not the person to do it. I became a massage therapist, not an aesthetician for a reason, and the reason being I don’t do zits. I know a lot of women who love to get into people’s skin and pick out the blackheads, pop the white heads, and clean those pores – I’m NOT one of them.

I decided to work around the obstacle blocking my work space, but of course, it wasn’t that easy. He spoke again.

“You know, it’s like you’re working around the spot that really hurts. Could you focus more toward the middle?”

Why do these things happen to me? “Sure, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Well, I don’t know what you have to really see about. Can’t you just go toward the middle? I don’t think it’s that hard.”

I was going to have to tell him. How did he not know he had a gigantic growth on his body? I know it was on his back, but he had to have at least a clue it was there.

“I don’t know if you know this or not, but you have a blemish right where you need me to massage you,” I explained. I thought using the word blemish would make it easier to tell him, and it actually did.

“Oh, uh, blemish? What do mean?” he asked.

“A zit, I’m talking about a zit.” Now I was losing my patience, and I could hear it in my tone.

“Oh, well, if it’s about to go, can you just pop it for me? I really want to stop hurting.”

“Popping zits isn’t in my scope of practice,” I explained.

“Scope a what?” he asked.

“It’s not what I do. I didn’t sign up to pop zits. I don’t even like to pop my own zits, much less someone elses.”

“Ok, well, can you massage it?”

“No, I can’t massage the huge white head on your back that could go at any moment. I will massage the rest of your back, but the zit is NOT happening!”

“Fine, whatever” he said, sounding disappointed.

I continued the massage, he huffed and puffed until it got old and went back to regular breaths. Then, the unthinkable happened. A little pus started to leak out, and immediately I could feel myself holding back vomit. I really don’t do pus or any other bodily fluids for that matter, and with that being said, I cut the massage.

“Alright, you’re all set! The girls will check you out up front, okay? Great!,” I said as I walked out of the room, not waiting around for a protest or a good-bye. I knew for a fact a “thank you” was out of the question.

So, for those of you who have asked me if I have to massage people who have zits, there’s your answer.



et cetera