Massage music

One of our favorite pastimes at the McSpa where I work is making fun of the music. It's . . . grating, at best. As much as we tune it out, every now and then we'll pause in the middle of a massage to realize we're hearing the same 3 chords over and over and over and over and over again, or running water, or whale sounds (I don't care what you think; it's not melodic). Rather than let it get to me, I've turned it into a mental sport. For example, last night a particularly strange song reminded me of Jonssi of Sigur Ros's vocal technique of singing into his guitar pickup, so I pretended it was Sigur Ros until it was replaced by one of the repetitive numbers.

It also makes for fun conversation with some of the clients, who are as perplexed by some of the selections as we are. Rare is the client who comments on how relaxing the music is; more often the comments run along the lines of, "I'm glad I went to the bathroom before we started because this running water stuff would really get to me. I hope you guys have learned to tune it out."

My favorite memory is of an interaction during a couples massage; one of the clients asked, "What do you call this music?" My fellow therapist replied, "Torture."

What I find interesting is that one of the estheticians goes to the manager about once a week and complains about how bad the music is, so he changes it--to something worse.

In the spirit of appreciation, I really do enjoy the entertainment value. I think of it as Mystery Science Theater 3000 with Muzak. More than that, I appreciate that when I see my private clients I play a mix of E.S.T., Air, and Vince Guaraldi.

Friday night, during another couples massage, one of the clients made fun of the running water track, and my coworker said, "At least it's not whale sounds."

And that tiny bit of appreciation opened a new current of conversation, during which two lesbians and two church-going pro-lifers agreed that the best part of Finding Nemo was Ellen Degeneres's character Dory, speaking whale and never remembering Nemo's name.

Sometimes it's easy to appreciate the contrast that shows us what we like and what we don't.

Addendum: Today, during a 2-hour massage, the most bizarre song I've heard in my life came on. I would have titled it, "Ghostly Chickens on Holiday at the Shore." Sea-related nature sounds were predominant, but there was a repeating theme of  what I could only describe as morose chickens clucking from beyond the grave. My coworker Galina commented that it sounded to her more like someone poking a stick at a cat, and everyone in session during that hour (it played from about 12:20-12:30; forever long song) got a great deal of amusement from it. I can only hope that my focusing on the music with amusement doesn't create more torture for other coworkers. :)