I feel like this could be a really funny series, although I feel like I shouldn't commit to blogging a series. So welcome to the first installment of the "things I learned the hard way" series, which may or may not ever have a second installment.
For my first lesson learned the hard way, I present you with:
Never buy a shady massage deal off Living Social.
I was so excited to buy a 60 minute deep tissue massage for $20. And it was in Council Bluffs, where I was working at the time. I didn't even know there was a massage place in Council Bluffs! Score! I called to make the appointment, and had to book a month out, because this place was so busy! They must be gooood!
I waited patiently for my appointment, and then the day finally came. I took a drive on my lunch break to find the place. Um...it was above a bike shop on "the strip" in CB. There was one tiny sign. Umm..okay. I probably should have cancelled at this point.
I got to my appointment and opened the door, which only led to a staircase. Okay. I climbed up the stairs, silently praying I wasn't walking into a serial killer's convent or a "happy endings" salon. I got to the top of the stairs, and there was a door on both sides of me. No signs. I felt like Dorothy when she hits a T in the yellow brick road and didn't know which way to go. There was no scarecrow to direct me. I had no idea what to do.
Suddenly the door on my right bursts open.
"Are you Jen?" a weird looking hipster girl screamed in my face. "I'm still eating!"
"Um okay, am I early?" I asked.
"No, but you can just sit in here til I'm done."
She led me to...her kitchen. Yep. Her kitchen. I was in this woman's apartment. She was eating ramon noodles. I gagged a little, but then got jealous that I'm not able to justify ramon noodles into my life anymore.
"Can I use your restroom?" I asked. I was so uncomfortable and I was slightly concerned about pissing myself out of fear.
"Yep, right that way." She pointed off yonder, and I walked into...yep, her personal bathroom. Cheap shampoo and conditioner sat on the ledge of her shower. Her makeup was scattered on the sink. Her blow dryer hung from its cord plugged into the wall. Do hipsters use blow dyers? I realized then I wasn't exactly sure what a hipster was. I would have thought they spent more than a dollar on shampoo, though.
I came back out and she had me sign some paperwork, basically saying what I wanted worked on and if I die on the table she wouldn't be held liable. I was a little scared to sign, because I was pretty convinced at that point she was going to kill me.
After I signed my life away, she led me into what I can only assume was her bedroom. She left me alone to get naked, and I stripped down, silently thinking how stupid it was that I will get naked for anyone who promises to rub on me. She came back in after I was wrapped tightly into what I can only assume was her bed, and I was silently praying again for God to get me through this.
Then she beat on me for 60 straight minutes. It actually hurt. I kept saying ow, but she apparently thought this was an S&M thing and that I liked the pain. I was downright begging God at that point to not make this out to be like a real life porno, where she started hitting on me and coercing me to be a lesbian with her.
I think I blacked out for a minute, and then it was over. I got dressed, mumbled some lies about what a great job she did, and hightailed my ass back to Homaha.
The next day I couldn't walk. Lesson learned. Never again.