When I started futzing around on this thing, I promised myself that I wouldn’t post all grumbles and snark. I wanted to use this space to explore significant experiences as my massage career developed, and maybe come up with some Big Thoughts about touch, compassion and humanity. Besides, other people do much better snark than I do.
But I can’t hold this back. Within the space of five minutes today, I was privileged to hear the highest concentration of spit-take-inducing ridiculousness I have ever heard. I need to share this.
Quick background: today I was working at a spa. It is a nice place, and the other therapists are very talented, but because of the environment, it is not nearly as weighty as my other workplaces. Example: on our breaks at the spa, we read People Magazine, while at the clinic, we use our breaks to look in Pub Med for articles about neuropathy.
The speaker of the following statements is in her late twenties. She is a massage therapist at the spa, and this is her first job. Ever. In her life. (No, not even a summer at a fast food place.) I will refer to her as “Zsa Zsa.” There are often things she says or asks that make some of the rest of us roll our eyes inwardly — things people who have had jobs already know. Today, Zsa Zsa was in rare form:
Zsa Zsa was eating a black bean burrito for lunch (which another co-worker picked up for her.) She looks down at the burrito after a couple of bites and shouts: “Oh my god! Why is this black!”
Zsa Zsa on the proper way to hold a baby shower: “Aren’t you supposed to rent a gigantic hall, like the Palmer House or something?”
Zsa Zsa on skin care: “I’m black and I go to tanning beds.”
Zsa Zsa on Tori Spelling: “I hate her ’cause she’s skinny and pregnant.”
Five minutes for all this snark fodder. Fabulous work, Zsa Zsa*.
(*-In the interest of fairness, I would like to say that Zsa Zsa is a very effective, often requested massage therapist. Just not so good at the activities of daily living stuff.)