My unconsummated affair with airport massage spas

Standing on the bus from long-term parking to airport check-in when I realize the layover to my connection home is long.  Not obscenely so, but long enough for me to shop, eat, have a drink, or do some meaningful work. A tickle at the back of my brain: my fingernails and toenails could use some color and I haven’t had a massage in over a year.  I wonder if this airport has one of those massage places???  No, they’re icky.  Who goes there?  I’ve seen some older gals in resort wear getting their pastels on.

Not for me, or is it?

Not the massage chairs in the middle of the concourse that I avert my eyes from when I walk by because I’m embarrassed for whomever is in them- but the legit little salons/massage places to be found in the decent airports.  I’m a tired traveler with time and a little money and some tiiiiight neck muscles!  No. Don’t do it; weird. Get a cocktail instead. No, do it!  Nothing to lose!  OK – I’ve convinced myself. When I land I’m gonna march in there like it’s the most normal thing in the whole world (and not something I had to pep-talk myself into on the megabus from parking hell).  I start to think about colors: same for toes and nails or mix it up?  Neck massage or whole back?  Or maybe feet – do they do that?  I don’t know but I’m kinda starting to get excited.  

Get to my gate, get on plane, uneventful flight, decent landing. I can start to smell the patchouli of the massage oil and the alcohol from the polish remover. We taxi to the gate and stop.  And wait.  And wait.  Ok – maybe i won’t have time for nails and massage. Choose nails.  And wait.  And wait. WTF??????  I can see the gate and there is NOTHING there – come on people pull this baby in I can get off the plane myself – I have a date with some Essie or whatever they use in airports. Waiting… aaaand I’ve crossed over. It’s too late. I’m gonna miss my date with the woman in the long gray smock and rainbow of nail polish choices waiting to make my day of travel happier. Didn’t this happen the last time I tried to do this?  Yes, it did. What do the massage oil gods have against me anyway?!?!?!?  I must have pissed off a gate agent somewhere, or took up too much arm room.  Is this karmic payback for the dirty look I shot the flight attendant who told me to power down? Possible.

I need to stop doing this to myself and stick with my ridiculously expensive mediocre martini in an uncomfortable tallboy chair and just wait out my layover like everyone else.

Essie, work on a shade called “Missed Connections,” I’ll buy it in bulk.

Journey On, Janes. ??

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