Massage karma caught up with me in Georgia

Plus, features of Eastern v Western massages

One of the best parts of corporate are the random conversations you get paid to have with coworkers. One day, massages came up; I cannot explain why. Chad, a tall, good-looking former jock, volunteered to tell us about his first and only experience. The masseuse—at a totally reputable establishment, for your information—gave him the instructions they typically give. Something to the effect of “Undress to your comfort level, then get under the sheet facedown.”

In his anxiety over this unfamiliar experience, Chad missed the parts about “facedown” and “under the sheet.” He undressed to comfort—in his case, all the way—and was unsure what to do next. So he laid on his back on top of the sheet to not disrupt things. To preserve decency, he strategically placed a hand towel over a certain bodily area.

Needless to say, but I’m going to say it anyway, the masseuse was VERY surprised when she entered the room. Much more explicit instructions were given while she looked in a direction opposite Chat, and she left the room for him to try again. This time, he explicitly followed directions. Had a massage. Left, still feeling a little sheepish.

Everyone, including Chad, laughed at the recounting of his story but the time has come to admit publicly on the Internet that, as a seasoned recipient of massages, I judged him. How could you not know to get under the sheet?

Well, karma caught up with me years later in Tbilisi, Georgia. Traveling the way I was—much walking, heavy backpack, budget accommodations with the world’s worst mattress or “mattress”—my shoulders, neck, and body in general were feeling wrecked. “Wrecked” is a phrase I learned from UK travelers and I like it. Google reviews are a wonderfully universal thing, and I found a reasonably-priced massage place nearby with decent reviews and openings for the next morning.

One thing I’ve learned from having massages all over the United States is that you never really know what to expect when you enter a new massage establishment. Especially because I prefer Asian massage establishments. They tend do things their own way, and this way differs a lot from the experience you might have at Western (e.g. American or Swedish) massage establishments.

The main differences for the uninitiated—and even those who can relate—as as follows:

Western massage establishments can be pretty froo froo: carefully curated aromatherapy, impeccable decor, very gentle music which reminds me of the music we played during nap time at the daycare where I worked for a summer in college. Everything is done almost reverently.

Eastern massage establishments often also have music playing. But there you will also likely hear lots of chatter between masseuses—same room, different room, it doesn’t really matter. Your masseuse may answer the phone during your massage. At my last one, one of their dogs barked most of the time. And it’s fun to see the differences in decor preferences. I have a feeling that something was lost in translation with this poem on the wall of a uniquely decorated SoCal massage room I couldn’t help but capture photographically.

My favorite thought bubble in the picture of the five dogs is the last one which says “Sorry.”

Western massage establishments gather a comprehensive medical history of you and your entire extended family. They review it carefully and accommodate their massage to any complications you or your family might have or ever had. “Now,” the masseuse begins in gentle tones. “You said your father’s maternal aunt had shoulder surgery when she was 14 years old? I’m very sorry to hear. I’ll be sure to be very gentle with both of yours.”

Eastern massage places’ approach is more of “if we can’t see any problems, you don’t have any.” In my case, they have no idea I’ve had multiple orthopedic surgeries and continued issues in multiple joints. But why waste time telling them? A yelp of pain when they bend you in ways you didn’t know the body could bend is quicker than wasting all that valuable massage time filling out unnecessary paperwork.

In practical ways, they’re also different. You’ll pay the equivalent of a semester of out-of-state tuition for a 50-minute Western massage; at an Eastern massage establishment, you can get a solid 60-minute massage for the price of eight Big Macs.

Anyway, I’d not yet braved an international massage until the country of Georgia where I, an American, ended up getting a massage from a Thai woman. What a multicultural experience. My masseuse gave me even fewer instructions than Chad’s masseuse gave him, but unlike him, I was a pro! I knew exactly what to do! Being in a new country and unsure of any difference in customs phased me not at all! Undressing to my comfort, I did pause for a second at the sight of an almost sheer fabric layer covering the sheet on the table before I blazed right through it and got under that sheet like EVERYBODY knows you’re supposed to.

Unlike Chad’s masseuse, mine wasn’t surprised when she entered. She was upset. Turns out, I was meant to lay under the semi-sheer disposable fabric sheet and on top of the real sheet. You are correct that this wouldn’t afford much privacy, but hey—new country, new customs.

Without leaving the room, she rather forcefully directed me to reposition which involved extricating from under one sheet and aimlessly standing there while she got it back in position. In the process, she saw about as much of my body as has my full-body mole-check dermatologist. At a certain stage of life, even if you continue to value modesty, you learn to be more accepting of your body (if you’re lucky) and comfortable with it being seen by people who need to see it. She didn’t technically need to see everything, but see it she did.

It was my fault, thought, since I did the obviously wrong thing. And I would now like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize to Chad; I get it now, man. We’re in this together.

Isn’t life cool, and aren’t people interesting?? See you in the next one…