9:00am – Am I ready for my Renewal and Rejuvenation? Am I still getting a facial or have I enrolled in Mormon Bible Camp?
9:02am – Place my things in this locker. I like that they think my purse holds valuable stuff instead of a bunch of maxed out credit cards and errant chapstick caps.
9:04am – I’ve been here 4 minutes and have no clue where the locker key went.
9:05am – I can’t believe I have to walk through the lobby in this robe. I’m feeling gusts of lavender-scented air in dark places.
9:06am – Saunter casually. Lift your chin. Gaze with disinterest. This is the only way to walk in waffle weave.
9:07am – Sit in that chair. It faces the least number of other chairs in case you forget that you’re wearing a robe the length of Lindsay Lohan’s courtroom skirts.
9:09am – Why didn’t you get yourself a glass of water with fruit floating in it when you entered the room? Look around, everyone else is sipping that floating fruit water. What kind of animal are you, not drinking water with fruit floating in it?
9:11am – Stop talking to yourself about the fucking floating fruit water. Just get up and get it. Carefully, now. It wasn’t a good day to forget underwear.
9:12am – No, no, no!! There is a kiwi or a hunk of that star fruit or whatever it is at Whole Foods stuck in the spigot. Stay cool. Just give it a little nudge, not like a vending machine kick. Like a delicate, “Free my star fruit and let the water poureth forth into thiseth irritatingly diminutive glass in my trembling hand.”
9:16am – Why am I still sitting here sipping infused water and staring down the black corridor of this man’s thighs across from me? What does he have to be so smug about? Judging by the thicket of hair on his legs, he’s got plenty more where that came from. And maybe eczema.
9:18am – What do you say, weird lady who coerced me into this robe? My facialist is just preparing the essential oils? Is that spa talk for ‘her Ford Focus wouldn’t start and she had to wait for her Guatemalan boyfriend to finish smoking a bowl before he could drive her here?’
9:20am – Oh, Jesus. What if I’m not even supposed to be in a robe right now? Think about it, everyone else placed in this waiting room is awaiting a full-body massage. I’m just having some zits popped and a lot of Country Crock rubbed on my face. I should change back into my clothes…
9:23am – I’d be more comfortable in a red FUBU track suit at this point. I’m going to just slip back to the locker room to – OH! Yes, hello! Your name is Ula. Of course it is.
9:25am – Hmm, let me think about that…When was my last facial? It involved a tub of Noxzema, some French Braiding, and Belinda Carlisle on loop.
9:26am – What? Would I like to receive extractions? I think the question is do you like drilling for crude oil?
9:28am – Do I enjoy aromatherapy? I prefer regular therapy. Which scents? Ummm. I have to make up aromas now because I cannot think of a single legitimate one…Green Tea…or other kinds of tea…dill weed…Cinnabons…Bounce fabric sheets…Drakkar Noir…petrol…They’re really most acknowledged in Europe. Like David Hasselhoff. Which you should know as a European-Scandinavian-Ukrainian-Facialistian.
9:30am – Oh, you need my bra off too? I was trying to remain covered up. Which is silly since we’re not having sex.
9:33am – I wish they would just play a musical track of digestive noises that way I wouldn’t have to worry about my own.
9:38am – Don’t laugh at the word décolletage. Don’t laugh at the word décolletage.
9:40am – I’m glad she’s not a talker. The only thing worse than having sebum extracted from your dermis is having to talk about The Biggest Loser while it’s happening.
9:45am – Wait, whoa, there. Where is she going? Why is she walking down to my feet? Why is she taking off my socks? I feel like it’s senior prom night again. Repress the memories.
9:46am – She’s massaging my calves. I haven’t shaved since the Bush Administration. Is this a pity massage? Why am I receiving a massage when I booked a facial? I KNEW IT. It’s the robe. I’ve confused everyone.
9:51am – What layer of shellac can we possibly be on? My face feels like Monica Lewinsky’s blue dress.
9:53am – This poor woman. She probably needs a B12 injection and a wrist brace.
10:00am – Ahh, we’re finished. Oh, you’ll make some product recommendations and leave them at the desk? Thank you, Ula. Now go home and tell your boyfriend how much you hate your job and hope you get deported soon.
10:05am – Yes, it was wonderful, weird robe coercion lady, thank you for asking. Ah, my product recommendations. Look at that. How considerate of Ula to recommend every goddamn product in the most available ounces.
10:07am – You know, I’m really going to have to see how my skin responds to these exotic ingredients because I just don’t know how…photosensitive…guava and honeydew might make my skin. It’s very sensitive. And I have a very careful skincare regiment that involves expired face wash and some Pam spray. I’ll just take this sample – thanks – and my self esteem balloon with its gaping hole.
And some more of this fucking floating fruit water.