White Trash Spa Day

Admit it, you’ve had one.

My first one was at the LAX airport, two, maybe three years ago. I was milling around, killing time to catch a flight, and I walked past a BrookStone or one of those stores that sells massage chairs. I politely milled around for a few minutes before dropping my bag. I looked both ways before kicking off my shoes and putting all the settings on full throttle.

Awe, yeah. I had kinks in my back I didn’t know about. My neck was stiff and apparently my shin muscles were tight. My back was arched and my entire body was shaking when my phone rang. As if I hadn’t already called attention to myself by sitting a wee bit too long for a demo, now bells were ringing.

It was Art, “Hey, what are you doing?”

I had to think about this trick question for a minute, “uh, I’m having a white trash spa day.”

I’ve done this a few times since then. The crazy part is he knew I was a White Trash Spa-er and married me anyway. It makes me think thoughts like, “ain’t that some crazy shit.” These thoughts confirm that I’m white trash, if the spa-ing didn’t.

When you're new at the White Trash Spa, you do the customary look about at the robotic vacuum or the talking remote meat thermometers. But once you've been a few times, you just walk right in and get in a chair. No fluffing about with the contour body pillows or comparing prices on the polycarbonate drinkware. You don't even pretend to shop because you already know which chair you're heading for when you walk in the door. And if it’s a small shop and there’s only one chair, and it’s occupied, you can’t even mask your disappointment.

And the really advanced regulars give advice to timid newbie’s reading the info sheets on the chair, "awe yeah, you gotta check that one out, make sure you click the lumbar section!"

And you'll know the regulars, even before they start talking to you. They are all relaxed. They will either have sunglasses on or their eyes closed. They don't even fake it and pretend to read the info sheet. No walking around when they are done. Nope, they just shoot out the door.

For some reason I still feel compelled to fake shop. I don't know why. One look at me and my $15 purse and you know I'm not the type to buy a $5,000 chair.