Have you ever witnessed something that shocked you to your core? I’m not talking about something as devastating as seeing people or animals injured or dead. No, nothing like that. I’m talking about seeing someone do something that alters your perception of that person. Specifically, seeing a respectable and upstanding member of your community exit a Thai massage parlour and immediately run across the road to a boutique florist. Seriously, I had to pick my jaw up off the ground and plug my eyeballs back into their sockets after seeing that!
“Mummy, what’s wrong?” My three-year-old son had asked me. “Mummy, what are you looking at? Why are your eyes all funny?”
My general practitioner had just exited THE DOOR. A sordid looking door nestled between two family friendly establishments in a community strip of shops. This door is the entrance to a dank and dark stairwell that leads to a Thai massage.
Have you ever wondered why the windows are always covered? What are they hiding? And what’s with the flashing neon open signs? Are they really a front for nefarious activities?
I have only been for a Thai massage once. It was a result of a cheap Groupon deal for two, an eager girlfriend and my temporary loss of sanity. It involved a dusty stairwell, a few wary female masseuses, a notable lack of English, questionable stains on the carpet and a whole heap of miming about no-go zones. There was not enough soap in the world that could have scrubbed the icky sensations left on my skin from that experience.
Not so long ago, I was sitting in my car waiting for my pizza order. I just so happened to be parked near a Thai massage parlour. In the space of twenty minutes, a tradie had plonked his ute in front of me, gone for his “massage” and left, all before my pizza was even ready for collection! Now tell me, what bloody massage is that quick? You can bet I gave him my biggest judgemental glare.
I have my suspicions. Yes, my doctor could be innocent. He might have needed a Thai massage and the only convenient time was during his lunch break. By chance, it may have been his wife’s birthday or their anniversary and after his “session”, it was convenient to stop by the florist on the way back to his clinic. He probably buys the world’s biggest bouquet of red roses on every special occasion, and this time was no different. Maybe it’s just a series of unrelated events. Though, I find it hard to believe because his actions suggest a man with a guilty conscience.
You can probably sense my strong dislike for these businesses. If you tell me that you frequent these places for legitimate massages, chances are I will automatically think the worst of you. And if you bring me flowers for no apparent reason, I might judge you on the size of the bouquet… the larger the bunch, the bigger the guilt.
Am I jumping to conclusions too readily? Is my perception coloured by my experience and pessimism? Maybe the reason people aren’t as affected by the sight of men coming and going from massage parlours is because mostly, nothing untoward happens. Maybe people do simply go for massages because they are effective and cheaper than treatment with a physio. And your partner randomly giving you flowers is sweet and doesn’t equate to any misdeeds. Am I too judgmental and see the worst in people too quickly. Could I have delicate sensibilities?
Whatever. The bottom line is this… If I ever get random flowers from my husband, there will be hell to pay. Oh, and we’re getting a new doctor.
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