Massaging a big BIG man

Yesterday when I was writing to you from the Barnes & Noble starbucks, I got a phone call from ME telling me they messed up my schedule and that I had a client there waiting for me.  The client been waiting in our “tranquility” room for the past 15 minutes.

I high-tailed it out of the book store and greeted my client, only being 20 minutes late.

He was the guy who played John Coffey in the green mile.

Okay, it wasn’t him.  This guy was BIGGER!  I shit-you-not.  Of all the people to get schedules wrong, why in the hell would they pick a guy who could fold my body into an oragami paper puppet with his pinkie?

I had no clue how to massage him.  My touch was akin to a butterfly’s wing flapping annoyingly against his cheek.  This guy needed a deep, manly massage, and all I could offer were little chipmunk hands scurrying along his back trying to dig for nuts or what-have-you.

The guy could not have been nicer.  We talked the whole time about going to the gym.  I have limited experience with gym’s (being that I never go to the them), but I can bullshit my way out of a paper bag, well, a wet paper bag.  He was a big cuddly man who I would proudly display as my live-in body-guard.  Someone always around to protect me.  And he was handsome.  Much more handsome than that Coffey fella.  He was a Denzel – no joke!  He was like a big 42-year-old kid who I can picture holding a delicate melty ice-cream cone in his huge hand.

But he didn’t leave a tip.  The girl manning the desk told me he left all his cash at home and she wasn’t allowed to add the gratuity onto his credit card on file.  She said he was going to come back to tip me.  I rolled my eyes and said, “yeah, right.”

Her – “He seemed really nice though.  I think he’ll be back.”

I have to go back soon.  My day hasn’t even started yet.  I have to give 5 massages and the first one is a deep tissue.

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Filed under humor, journal

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