A Flash in the Can
It's a small, well-run, sparkling clean, beautifully appointed place. Great management and staff and, since I'm one of them, fabulous clientele.
There are two things that are a given when you get a massage. You're going to feel better leaving than you did arriving, and your hair is going to look insanely bad until you can fix it up in the bathroom. And you have to fix it up in the bathroom before you leave or bring a baseball cap, and I always forget to bring a baseball cap.
While I'm getting my massage, my therapist mentions that she has a 16-year-old boy coming in right after me. I'm thinking this has to be the smartest kid in the world. He's 16 and has already figured out that massage is great for his physical and mental well-being. I'm thinking that a kid this smart, a kid who's using his or his parents' cash for massage instead of video games or porno mags, he could be President some day.
We finish up and I head for one of the two bathrooms. Neither is marked Men or Women, just Rest Room, since a) it's a small place, and b) there are only two of them. It seems logical to me. And I can read, which clears up any mysteries -- two bathrooms, for whoever gets there first. And, two modern bathrooms, I must stress, with locks on the doors.
Bathroom 1 is clearly occupied. I can tell by the light on and the fact that the door is locked. So I head for Bathroom 2, because I'm not stepping past the bathrooms until my hair is fixed up. The door opens without issue because it IS NOT LOCKED.
I stressed those last words because, of course, you know what's coming and who's in there. Right. Our 16-year-old future President, standing there, doing what males do. With an O-face on that has nothing to do with enjoyment and everything to do with "OHMYGOD".
To my credit, I didn't look down (not that there appeared much to see, but, again, I wasn't actually trying to take a gander). I merely took in the scene, saw his look of complete surprise mingled with horror, said, "Oh, sorry!", and backed out. My therapist and the wife half of the ownership team were standing there, looking at me with that, "Are you kidding me?" look. I, in turn was standing there trying not to laugh like a hyena.
Our future Pres comes out, apologizing profusely to ME. As if seeing a flash of baby wieney was going to psychologically affect me. I have no idea how he felt -- with three grown women, two of whom were absolutely old enough to be his mother, all looking at him, clearly trying not to laugh --but I'll wager it wasn't good.
I went in and of course, of COURSE, I had the worst, most amazingly scary-looking, massage hair ever. I looked at myself and wondered how the kid had not screamed when he saw me coming in. Self-control and the ability to keep hold of one's head (insert your bad joke here) during a crisis is a good Presidential trait.
All the adults had a good laugh about this once I was out and the inner sanctum door was closed, myself in particular. I suggested they check the kid for emotional scarring, and also suggest that, since he's 16, not 6, perhaps we should learn to lock Mr. Door before we take Mr. PeePee in public. I also requested that, the next time they were going to set me up for a cheap thrill, I wanted an adult male in the can, preferably a Chippendale's or Thunder from Down Under guy. If you're gonna play, PLAY.
I also told them to add a couple of bucks to my tip and give it to the kid. I can see nudity any time I want - I'm married and have internet access. But a laugh like this one is hard to come by.