Massage In Malaysia

Disclaimer: I know that most generalizations are generally wrong. I’m sure there are perfectly good spas in and around Kuala Lumpur. This is just a retelling of what I went through. 

Scene 1

The Demigod enters The Asia Spa: the space is breath-taking! Dark woods, recessed lighting, the plinky plunky sound of running water, the smell of chamomile, white sheets, soft couches, and jeezushchrist a lazyboy with a foot spa thingy. 

Enter Receptionist Bitch (RB): how meh help you? 

The Demigod: Oh my jeezushchristalmighty there is an evil evil knot in my neck, my back is like granite, and my feet are killing me. 

RB: *blink*… *blink*

The Demigod: I’m here for the RM88 massage promo? 

RB: Ah, tak boleh, so sorry.

The Demigod: *blink*… *blink*

RB: Cannot lah.

The Demigod: Oh, is that because there’s no one available? That’s ok, I’ll wait. 

RB: No, cannot lah. You a man.

The Demigod: Only in anatomy, but thanks for noticing. I don’t understand… 

RB: The Asia Spa only for single female lah. *smiles like a zombie from the deadzone*

The Demigod: *blink*… *blink* You mean, because I have a penis, you won’t give me a massage? *blinking back tears of frustration*

RB: Yes

The Demigod: Bitch

RB: Bring it on *whips out samurai sword*

Ok, maybe I took poetic license with the last bit, but I was really turned away from a spa. Because I was a man. 

 

Scene 2

The Demigod enters Reflexology and Massage, through an arch. Seriously. An arch of a foot. Through a foot. Holy cow Toto. We are definitely NOT in fcking Kansas anymore. 

As I step in, this little old chinese lady (there seems to be a lot of them here in KL) jumps up from behind the counter and immediately begins to offer the different treatments. 

Little Old Chinese Lady (LOCL): Whatchulayyyyh?

The Demigod: What do I wha?… oh like! Oh yes, hi, I’d like a back massage!

LOCL: We have special today on foot massage.

The Demigod: Yeah, no. I need to straighten out my neck, really. But thanks. 

LOCL: But you come to foot reflexology. Foot our speciality. 

The Demigod: (stumped) Good point. Ok, let’s try the foot and back combo.

LOCL: Belly good. Right this way.

The Demigod: *covers engorged stomach from one too many roti plantas* ………….Bitch…

As I sit down and ponder the comfiness of the oversized overstuffed chair, my therapist materializes in front of me and dunks my feet in some nicely-scented-but-scalding-hot water, which immediately relaxes me. I was about to tell him that I needed something that’ll fix my back when this white-hot, searing pain explodes in my skull, draining back to my calves because he had already started kneading them. 

The Demigod: A little less pressure, please

Therapist: Shoo shoo… *starts to violently whack my arches with a closed fist*

Just when I was convinced that I would never walk again, he eases up on my feet and wraps them in a hot towel. Then do I realize the benefits of the kneading: the increased blood flow, combined with the hot towel, combined with SHEER AND UTTER RELIEF THAT HE IS NOT TOUCHING MY FEET ANYMORE is truly relaxing. 

Now I wait for the back massage, which is the whole point that I came here to begin with. I’m wondering how I’m going to get a backrub as the oversized overstuffed chair is flush against the back wall, he motions for me to sit on the footrest.

Discovering that my feet were still useful, I’m seated on the footrest, when he says:

Therapist: Ehh, tek off.

The Demigod: Sorry, what?

Therapist: Tek. Off. This one. (latches at my shirt with two fingers)

The Demigod: Oh no no, that’s really, quite, very, really ok. (in my head: jeezusmerryjoseph he’s going to take off my shirt)

Therapist: Off lahhhhh. (Helping me take it off)

Now, at one point The Demigod weighed 198 pounds, with a 40-inch waist line. I’m now a healthy 140, with an undisclosed number for my waist. I also used to be 5′3″, WHICH HAS NOT CHANGED. So deep inside, I’m still a scared little fat boy. 

Therapist then proceeds to knead the knots out of my back, and seems to be firmly convinced that he can extract my spinal cord through my pores with nothing but brute strength. So there I am: sitting, half naked, in a public massage space, fat hanging out, face in inexplicable contortions of pain, crying for momma. 

But boy does my back feel a zillion times better.