3.17.2006

Ding! Dong! Winston's gone!

Perhaps the feds finally caught up to him, or he was scared off by our intimidating we-are-a-class-of-primadonnas attitude; maybe he just came to his senses and realized he didn’t know the first thing about running a business… The important bit is that he is gone, gone, gone. Along with some massage tables and a computer, but hey, that’s clearly not my problem.

He did try to shut down the school entirely the day he threw in the towel (how very “If I’m going down, you’re all going down with me!"), but thanks to some legal jargon and an extra-special contract clause, it was not ultimately his decision to make. The school will stay in business, our class schedule will not be changed, and Ms. IEP announced she will only be bailing on us 2 nights each week, instead of running off completely.

You may now return to your regular scheduled programming.*

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Last night Ms. IEP left the practice room (no doubt strategizing the attack that came later in the evening when she made a student cry) and we waited next to our facedown, half-draped comrades to begin the back massage lesson. The room was dim, our group was alone in the building, we were lulled into stillness by the ticking of the wall clock and the timid whirring of the ceiling fan.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

A student across the room cleared her throat (or made some sort of random sound) kerblotchen! and the half-draped classmate on my table SHOT up in what appeared to be a lightning-quick execution of the bow pose, as I spun towards her wildly, panic burning brightly in my eyes, and made what will go down in history as the fastest lunge over a person’s ass**, ever, to grab the edge of her sheet as it merrily offered to introduce everyone to her gluteal cleft.

See, my table-lying classmate, thinking a throat-clearing stranger had walked in on us (all the Winston drama makes it easy to understand her skittishness), was so startled that her body JUMPED up in true Flight response, but within that split-second she realized she was lying prone on a massage table, NAKED but for the sheet, and oh god, NAKED BUTT under the sheet! As she spooked and whinnied, her arms flew behind her in a clumsy grab at the slippage, but hooray for Quinn who managed to catch the edge of it just in time, in a heroic I won’t let go of your hand no way will I let you plummet to your death from the edge of this building kind of way. After we all crumpled up and cried laughing for several minutes, I noticed a twinge of adductor pain (ahem, that’s the groin area for you regular folk), which was a minor irritation for the rest of the class.


Today I’ve decided getting injured in the line of duty (!) speaks highly of my massage therapist potential- that I would react so quickly and go to such lengths to keep a person’s ass covered should not be undervalued. Perhaps I should make a note on my business cards:


*This is me ignoring the hysterical inner voice crying "Christ on a cracker! What kind of school have I thrown all my money at?!"

** It's high time this move was made a recognized sport. Or maybe just an athletic division of a larger sport's... are they called categories? Like track and field? Hey if the standing fucking long jump can be taken seriously. I'm just saying.

2 comment:

Blogger Lisa said...

To me, your slogan is a huge selling point. If I lived near ya, I'd be giving you a call. heehee.

2:56 PM  
Anonymous Pickle said...

My business card just says:

PICKLE
Will you pull my groin?

11:31 PM  

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