Yesterday I went with Heather to a place in Ajax that offers free 40-minute massages.
When we arrived, we removed our shoes and put on weird little brown slippers. We shuffled in our slippers over to some chairs where we took turns sitting on an admittedly awesome heated pad while watching a promotional video about the product. It would change our lives forever, especially if we were over the age of 60 and had any sort of ache or pain.
When the video ended we were ushered into another area of the room where the massage beds were lined up. I was shown how to align myself on the massage bed, and the demonstrator pushed a button which prompted hot rolly balls to move up my body.* It was a weird sensation, but not altogether unpleasant. The bed was heated, which felt really good, and almost made up for the farty, old-people smell of the place.
The experience would have been extremely relaxing if the company’s theme song had not been blaring from a speaker above my head. The theme song blared in English. Then Spanish. Then CHINESE, for crying out loud. I couldn’t stop laughing at the in-your-face marketing tactics the company was using, including the lyrics to the theme song taped up on the ceiling directly above us. You know, just in case I felt like singing along. I felt like I was in the middle of an episode of the Simpsons, it was so surreal. The most ridiculous detail was the sign taped to the wall in the massage area that asked visitors not to talk, while half-way through the session an employee picked up a microphone and asked some of the other waiting visitors to spout testimonials. Several people did so, surprisingly without any opposition, leading me to question whether these were actually brainwashing beds, instead.
It was a free massage, so I understand that they’re going to do their damnedest to sell them while you’re lying in the supine position. I’m just not sure I could stomach another international round of that theme song.
*Not a phrase I ever expected to write.
