No Scrubs

I love Korean spas. They're no frills. It's $15 or $20 and you can go relax, let your mind go blank and detox. I also love the old Korean men who have visited the spas as a part of their cultural ritual since they were young. And of course there's some eye candy because the non-Koreans have discovered that the calm effects of a good steam, sauna or jacuzzi. And it's cheap.

I had never gotten a massage or a scrub before. Even though a scrub's only $35 (including use of the spa), frankly it kind of scared me. The little man who does it is skinny and in a towel. And even though the scrub table is in a discreet corner in the spa, it feels a bit exposed. Whenever I go to shave, I can see a pasty old white guy getting exfoliated by Mr. Skinny.

The young, hot non-Asians never seem to visit Mr. Skinny.

So when I went over the weekend, to try to sweat out two consecutive nights of drinking and carrying on, the lovely but non-English speaking Asian lady at the front accidentally charged my card $150 instead of the usual $15.

"Oops." And it sounded as tiny, squeaky and as stereotypically Asian as you could imagine. She might have even giggled when she said it. But all of a sudden she was pulling out all of this money and handing it to me.

"I made a mistake." What? So you couldn't just credit my card? So here I was with $135 dollars in cash. So I figured that since she made the mistake anyway, maybe this was my opportunity to try a scrub. So I gave her twenty more bucks.

In addition to being very cheap, the whole operation is incredibly loose. This is not a high-anxiety environment like Burke Williams. No big schedules. No demanding clientele. My scrub was supposed to start at 1:50 and when I went to check, I got shooed away.

"Five more minutes."

Ten minutes later I showed up on Mr. Skinny's doorstep. Or his tableside. He motioned for me to lay on the table. I didn't know how to say, "You sure you don't want to hose it down first?" in Korean. So I hoped for the best.

"On back." I guess that means I should get on my back. Do I keep my towel on? Do I cover my genitals? Do I remember what the guys on the table usually have on? Not saying that I was looking too closely. I don't want to be inappropriate and insult this guy. So I decided to leave my towel draped over myself.

He threw the towel to the side. And laid a small hand towel to cover the goods. And when I say cover the goods, I mean BARELY cover. I've got nice goods. I mean, there's no pretense. I'm half-Asian. I know the deal. The jig is up.

SPLASH. He grabs a green bowl of luke warm water and covers me. I make sure not to get any in my mouth. Was that a fresh bowl?


SPLASH. Once more with feeling.

He then gets some sort of scrub pad and starts working on my arm. Wow. This is some exfoliation. Must be good for the skin. Because it hurts. A lot.

Then he lifts my arm and scrubs. Then he places my arm over my head, so it's bending at the elbow. I hope no one's taking a picture because it's strange. On two levels: 1) it looks like I'm posing for some underground fetish Korean magazine; 2) I'm naked! Hello!

By the time he's working on my legs, I'm used to the pain. And also, I think my legs are able to endure more pain. The skin isn't as sensitive. But then, in a completely unexpected turn of events, he grabs "the goods" and starts to scrub my...oh Jesus...uh...the area between...underneath...near...holy shizknuckles!

He's scrubbing my taint. And if you don't know what that is, I'm not going to explain it to you. And under the balls. And then he gets the other side. So I'm fully exfoliated in the taint zone.

He got the nooks AND the crannies. And that was the most shocking thing that got scrubbed. Thank heavens.

Until he exfoliated my anus. Not deep in. Just the area that's butt cheek adjacent. And there are no italicized thoughts to explain while he did this because I really didn't want to think about what he was doing.


SIDE NOTE: I know a lot of women in the blogosphere and other media outlets like to talk about their first Brazilian and the traumatic effect it had on them initially. This is nothing like that. It's kind of worse. Not that I have a vagina to speak of. But at least with a waxing you know of the potential dangers.

So when he's done ripping the skin off of me, he makes me turn around. I'm scared of what's to come. Then he lathers up his hands and washes me. Okay, that's a nice way to end. It's pleasant. Gentle. And not erection inducing. I take a deep breath.

"Shower!" Is it over? Couldn't he just yell "cut?" Or "and scene?"

I have that feeling I usually get when I'm on a rollercoaster and it's pulling into the station. Relief. My heart is racing. And I'm ready for it to be over.

My skin is still pretty soft to the touch. And eventually, the trauma will subside.

Give it time. Right?