Having recently come out of a taxing long-term relationship I decided to spend much of my first year as a masseur on the road. My maiden voyage lasted about six months, starting in New York City.
Needless to say, I did not pack light. My check-in suitcase was large enough to carry ten pairs of pants, twenty shirts, five pairs of shorts, six novels, a blow dryer, one electric razor with attachments, and enough toiletries to keep a family of Jennifer Lopezes happy through a dry winter. I also had two carry-ons. The first was a carry-on version of the larger suitcase that housed four pairs of shoes; all of my socks; and US Weekly, Vanity Fair and OK magazines. The two suitcases were complete with bands that snapped together forming an island. The second carry-on was my laptop. And it didn't stop there.
Quite a few travelling masseurs work on a bed so as not to have to carry a table cross-country. To me that was just an invitation to offer or expect more than a massage, so I decided to travel with a table that when folded measured 27" x 36".
The only thing I was missing was a birdcage and a parrot.
I was lucky enough to have a friend that was willing to drive me to the airport at 7 a.m., thus avoiding the many turnstiles and narrow entries of the CTA train lines. Walking into Midway airport with my massage table on my left shoulder, laptop on my right shoulder and rolling closet poorly maneuvered by my right hand, I knew I had made a horrendous error and my rotator cuffs would never be the same. As I slowly (and irritatingly to everyone around me) made my way through the labyrinth and up to the check-in counter, I started to receive stares. Just wanting to remain as anonymous as possible I inched my way to the clerk once it was my turn.
"Child, is that a massage table?", she asked in a voice loud enough to be heard at the back of the line.
"Baby, you could set that table up right here and right now. You know that's what I need, a massage!"
I laughed uncomfortably, pushing my ID, ticket and anything else she may need toward her to just let me through. Finally she checked the table and the suitcase and I was allowed to head to TSA and on to my gate where I could relax, a good one hundred pounds lighter.
When we arrived at JFK I ran for the baggage area excited to get to my Midtown hotel. I was already booked for the day and NYC is pricey.
After I laboriously gathered my table and suitcase I headed toward the taxi ramp. I leaned the table against a column, stationed the suitcases then walked a few feet forward, laptop dangling from my shoulder while waiting my turn to hail a cab. I got one immediately. I hurriedly grabbed my suitcases, throwing them in the trunk, then hopped in the back seat. Minutes after pulling away from the curb, I realized I was missing something.
"Shit! Sir, can you stop? I left my massage table back there."
"Your massage table!?", he asked as if I said I'd said I left my unicorn behind.
He stopped. I hopped out and ran back grabbing it, relieved.
I finally made it to my hotel, exhausted, but ready to perform six previously booked back-to-back massages. Afterwards I met a friend from college who that same night introduced me to a handsome guy he thought I would be interested in. The handsome guy and I enjoyed lively banter for about thirty minutes before he gave me a serious look.
"You're fun. Why are you single?"
Unwittingly I responded, "Too much baggage I guess."
