Basking in the Glow

So who should walk in to teach my Massage II class last night but the Scrubs-Nazi who gives me the evil eye whenever we cross paths and obviously and deliberately looks me up and down to try to find some inappropriate clothing that he can yell at me about. Fuck.

Perhaps I've not mentioned him before, but during the middle of last semester, while I was rushing around between work and class to both get my uniform on and also eat something and then clock in, the aforementioned Scrubs-Nazi followed me *all* the way down the hallway to very rudely inquire about the absence of my scrubs top (as it was not yet on my body). I very icily told him that it was not yet *on* my body because some of us were rushing around to get to school from work and have to *change* once we get here. He mumbled and grumped something under his breath and stomped off. Ever after that, whenever we would cross paths, he would go out of his way to make it clear that he was inspecting me for failure to abide by the dress code. So I of course took *extra* long to get dressed before class and made sure to switch back into a civilian top before leaving JUST TO PISS HIM OFF.

Yeah.

And so now he's teaching my Massage II class.

I about shit a brick.

When he walked in, I immediately took out my nosering because I figured I sure as shit was doomed if he saw that. I then whispered to my friend T____, That's the scrubs-nazi guy who yelled at me that one week! And she just looked at me with a "you're so doomed" look and laughed.

This wouldn't be quite so major a problem if it didn't mean that I am now gonna end up working my ass off double-time just to prove to this guy that I am *not* in fact the slacker chick he had pegged me for based on my appearance. Gah!

A little bit of info about the Scrubs-Nazi, so you understand my pain: he is an ex-Marine. He worked in a factory-atmosphere for about 31 years before making the (inexplicable) switch over to massage therapy. He served in Vietnam. And he does power-point presentations for each class.

Double yeah.

He also has the most monotone speaking voice I've heard in a while, and having to sit through four hours of class with him after having sat through a previous two-hour class and also 8 and 1/2 hours of work IS GOING TO MAKE MY SKIN TURN INSIDE OUT AND CATCH FIRE.

Erf erf erf, I said to myself the first two hours of class. This guy is going to be the death of me.

And then we went into practical and I got to play patient. We spent the evening working on client-requested massage (i.e. I had to fill out fake-paperwork about the fact that I have carpal tunnel problems and a perpetually stiff neck from computer-usage at work) and our partner spent 1/2 an hour devoting their time to working on these areas.

As he wandered around the room offering tips and suggestions, he stopped at my table and my partner T___ asked him what kind of massage could be used for carpal tunnel.

Color me impressed when he showed my partner how to pinpoint the area of the wrist/hand to work on by wandering up and down my forearm, stimulating my tendons so that my fingers kept compulsively twitching and flexing until he hit the problem areas where the tendon was no longer stimulating the reflexive twitch of my fingers--that, he said, is the area where I'm having problems. How many times have I been to the doctors about this and how many times have they shown me this so that I might be able to more successfully combat my sore tight wrists daily? You guessed it--not a once.

Then he asked about my other problem areas, and I told him about my neck. He started to very gently massage and then was like, "Wow--your one neck muscle is strung as tight as a guitar string." He then showed T___ how to numb the nerve and in turn relax the muscle by applying pressure to the motor point in the back of my neck. It was the most bizarre thing I've experience, body-wise, because as he pressed against this muscle, it actually began to jump and kick. He looked at me and said, Do you feel that? And I sure as shit did. It was my muscle spasming and it felt like I had a little Rosemary's baby gestating in my neck that was getting surly and kicking in utero. It literally jumped and kicked several times before he managed to numb it and then it felt like sweet sweet glorious goodness. He smiled at me and that was that.

Despite my initial reservations, he had won me over with his (dare I say it) professionalism and his tender and gentle touch. I guess judging a book by the cover works both ways.

So all in all, it was a good (albeit long) day. My two-hour massage clinic is *not* in fact the one where we work on friends and family (yes, I know you all are disappointed now--but that's NEXT semester apparently). Instead we will be spending an hour each Wednesday getting massaged and an hour giving a massage--no tests, no lecture, just massaging so that we familiarize ourselves with it more. And my roly-poly Russian instructor teaches that, so I am happy.

This also means I'll be receiving about 2 hours-worth of massage every Wednesday night, and ain't nothing bad about that--woot woot.

Tired and worn out, but my neck feeling like butter, I left school at 10:00pm to trek home. As I crawled into my car and switched into my crocs, who should walk by but my ABC Anatomy Instructor (henceforth to be referred to as The Bane of My Existence)... Had I taken just a few moments longer to pack up and clock out, I would've gotten to chat with him on the way to my car, but what can you do? Instead I turned on my headlights and let him bask in the glow as I sighed to myself, my stupid chest all 14-years old and giggly.