A story of what could have been

I’m having a lot of trouble holding my head up at the moment. This is thanks to a combination of things: lugging my laptop around everyday, indulging in two pillows at night, hunching over my desk and probably having a large around of brains to carrying in my head.

So last night, in the depths of pain, I went into a Chinese ‘herbal medicine establishment’ to get a pressure point massage for my neck. I had my friend explain in Chinese that my neck was sore and needed some sorting out. She even told them to use some special ointment to ‘close the points’ off or something like that. It was even organized that I would see ‘the doctor’ there. I felt optimistic, cocooned in the triumph of defying the language barrier that would have normally resulted in me getting an ear massage instead.

My friend went downstairs for her massage and I sat there, waiting for the doctor to come. Around me were golden waving cats and boxes of what I’m pretty sure were boob enlarging potions. A girl wearing a short dress appeared at the door, gesturing for me to follow her. So I did. Holding my head up with my hand like an African tribal woman who has just taken off her neck bangles. She led me to another ‘establishment’ and told me to go downstairs. At this point I was slightly worried that I was about to get whisked off into some kind of black market whore trading. For a second I wondered how much they’d sell me for considering that two months shy of 29, I’d probably be regarded as withered goods. As I got downstairs, the dulled light that can only be associated with $2 sucky sucky greeted me. To my left was a young girl leaning against a doorframe. “Oh fuck”, I thought as I saw she was wearing a black and white striped dress and platform shoes. This was all it took for me to be totally convinced I was in a brothel. Suddenly, it crossed my mind that maybe they thought I was a lesbian and ‘sore neck’ was a Chinese code word for ‘girl on girl’ action. I walked into ‘my room’ and half expected a tripod, leather school girl outfits and pink handcuffs. Clearly I have an overactive imagination. What was definitely lacking was any sign of the kind, elderly Chinese herbal guru I was expecting. Instead, waiting for me was another young Chinese girl wearing a short dress and platform shoes.

I got on the table and hoped for the best. To her credit she had strong hands, although I’m not entirely sure what rubbing my bum had to do with my neck problems. During the few moments of pain inflicting downtime, I, err, might have also given her the impression that I was a TV star. I was trying to explain advertising but got a better reaction when I said TV. Despite not getting sold or penetrated by an angry Chinese lesbian, my neck is better although movement is restricted. All in all, I feel like a better half Chinese person for the experience.