Some time ago I went to get my car serviced. The Subaru agents are a well organized lot and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. They offered to take me to the Sunshine Plaza which straddles a small river, one of my favorite places on the Sunshine Coast Australia where I happen to live. I can sit and enjoy a cool drink while watching the water flow underneath this section of the plaza. Before long I was in their courtesy car with other happy people headed for work or recreation while mechanics performed magic on their cars ensuring they were prepared for the rigors of the road.
You can only take so much of window shopping and walking around the local mall, or watching paddle boats on the river being laboriously paddled by fathers of happy children to fill in time. I think it’s been agreed women go shopping, but men go to get what they want if you understand what I mean.
So I headed for the Japanese meal counter in Sunshine Plaza food court to bring back fond memories of my trips to Japan. Japanese restaurants in countries outside Japan tend to corrupt their food to satisfy the local palate, but this food is authentic. I was well satisfied, but glancing at my watch it was apparent there’d be some further time before I could anticipate a call on my cell phone to tell me my car was out of the workshop and a courtesy car would be on its way to pick me up. What was I to do to occupy myself until then?
It was while I was wandering in boredom I spied one of those massage chairs with a big sign which said $2 massage. So I said to my back, “You’ve treated me well this morning and I’m going to give you a little treat to put you in a happy mood.”
Taking my seat I paid the required $2. It was soon apparent the devil invented that machine, and he’d deputed 7 evil companions to operate it after pocketing my $2. Metallic balls climbed inside my body and systematically beat each vertebra in turn until they screamed for mercy and told me in no uncertain terms to turn off the torture. One of the devils resident in that chair grabbed my legs and twisted them in a vice grip while another rotated by buttocks and relocated them on top of my head.
The next to be assaulted were my shoulder blades. Two resident chair devils played a tune on those with steel drumsticks while manipulating my legs to a rumba rhythm while the chair provided percussion to this music, doing a moonwalk at the same time. Just when I thought that machine would never turn off it fell silent. A green light appeared which said insert $2. Those devils had to be kidding!
It was only when I’d finished my vain efforts to fight the chair and it had ground to a halt I realized I had an audience. A collection of children and bored husbands waiting for their mothers or wives to appear with an arm load of shopping bags for them to haul to their vehicle had watched the drama uncertainly. As I emerged shaking from the chair one tired looking man took my place poised ready to jump to safety should the infernal machine start up by itself. But the devils wanted money and the chair remained inert much to the old man’s relief.
At that point in time my cell phone buzzed welcome news a courtesy car was on its way to collect me.
If anyone would like to sample what hell is like take the $2 ride for four minutes on a massage chair at the Sunshine Plaza Australia. The spirits await you!
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