This is a true story. And if any negative energy fucks me up after its publishing… well, consider yourself dear reader a witchcraft crime witness.
I got us a SPA day out – announces Karol. ( It’s just miles from where we live and in some shitty wannabe luxurious hotel we’ve never heard of – he doesn’t add) Hooray, hooray, off we go with our stiff necks and twitching eyelids. I’d say we’re getting pampered but, as a non-native, I somehow always associate this word with diapers. So anyway, water least-active sports and back massages await. Weeks pass, the day comes and I meet Ela.
Ela is dressed in black. She sits behind her desk and asks us for some information. Karol dislikes her. I’m more interested in the Christmas catalogue on a nearby table than offering her any attention, really. Before I get asked to switch from the latest technology offers to the number of cardiac arrests, organ transplants and chronic diseases on the health questionnaire that is. Of course I joke, Ela laughs, we-are-fa-mi-ly. After signatures, we follow Ela to the dark side and are asked to choose our treatment rooms. I go straight ahead. Karol turns right. Little do we know that directions are allocated. The right belongs to Kasia. Guess who I end up with. Correct!
What is it with massage places and Enya? I mean, does she get some commission for having her sail aways played in every beauty salon? I keep wondering. Enya’s music is as certain in so-called relaxing spaces as dumb dance music in most gyms. It puts me off the whole experience. Not sure about you, but in moments like these, I simply can’t wait when playing music in public spaces becomes politically incorrect.
Ela says get undressed and I’m too shy to disobey. Of course she leaves the room (but in hindsight I’m convinced Ela sees through doors so to hell with my modesty) and promises to come back. She’s quick. I hardly manage to put my face down onto that circular head rest when she knocks on the door. Oh, the blissful relaxation… let me just switch off and sail away, sail away… Or maybe not.
what do you do? – asks Ela and touches my leg.
(Shit! Thought it was a back massage! I haven’t complied with the Presentable 21st Century Girl rules so fuck, my legs are hairy! – I don’t say but suddenly get all tense)
Yyy, I’m a graphic designer – I say with my face stuck in the cushioned circle. Ela begins massaging my tigh. She chuckles.
I know your double! My friend looks exactly like you and is also a graphic designer. In fact, she’s visiting me here in about two hours.
(Never joke with strangers, unless you wish for a fa-mi-ly reunion – I take mental notes and say nothing)
Do you work in your profession? Asks Ela and so I confirm with a moan, simply because my massaged leg hurts.
You’re lucky then – she states.
(Oh please, please, just don’t give me the lucky you bullshit – I think considering the floor)
Because my friend has tried for over a year now but hasn’t been lucky so far – Ela continues.
Has she tried doing an internship? You know, for no money or very lttle money, to get her foot in the door? asks Marta-the-savior, Marta-the-surely-must-be-some-solution.
She can’t afford that says Ela and Marta-the-savior says something like oh or even oh, well (thinking: oh, how surprising).