I like to get my feet rubbed. Not by people I know, I don’t want to know the person rubbing my feet. I don’t want the foot rub to be a favor or a perverse seduction. Rubbing my feet is a job. A job that I am willing to pay for. I’m not afraid to complain either. I won’t complain about undercooked bacon in a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich but a lackadaisical foot rub, where’s the fucking manager? Actually, “Where’s the fucking manager?” is only thing I know how to say in Chinese. I do feel bad initially, when I walk into a salon and ask for a 30-minute foot massage, you gotta say massage, they get a little funny when they hear the word “RUB”
“I want a 30 minute foot massage. How much is that?” I ask.
“30 dollars”
“$30 dollars? I thought you did this because you liked it. Ok $30 dollars but I get to take my jeans off. No lesbo”
There are at least half a dozen places within a mile radius of my apartment. It’s one of the things I love about New York. I usually go to the one 100 paces from my door, much to the staff’s chagrin. It’s truly a luxury. I mean, where else do you go out to grab some coffee filters and have to walk by someone who is just sitting around waiting to rub some feet? I don’t know of any other place. In fact, my last apartment in Boston was in South Boston, Southie, as people like to call it, and I can’t remember foot rub temptations at all but I never thought anything of it. I hadn’t been exposed to the underworld of rubs. But now, it is one of the things I look for in a neighborhood. I’ll go visit a friend and ask “Where do you get a foot rub around here?” Often times they laugh and deflect with a “You’re hair looks good.” Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the compliment redirect but I also know what that means. It means “I can’t tell if you are kidding but either way I don’t know the answer” Important information gathered. Sometimes I’ll press the issue and ask again. They’ll say something like “Ya know, I don’t like strangers touching my feet.” Ok now we are getting somewhere. Now I know my friend knows how much I care about my hair AND she doesn’t like strangers touching her feet. Relationships grow and develop based on trivial dossiers like this.
Honestly, I haven’t hired anyone to rub my feet in about a month. The last time I went into Ocean Nails (183 Smith Street, Brooklyn –good people!) the first thing they asked was “foot massage today?”
Now I’ve been broke, I even cashed in my coin bowl recently, mostly because it was overflowing all over my bedroom floor and I would pour a cup of coffee and peel quarters off my feet at the same time. It had to stop. So, no I wasn’t getting a foot massage today, in fact I had gone in to collect on my 11th Manicure Free Card. This information caused a lot of chatter in what I think of as Chinese but it could be Asian Pig Latin for all I know. I started to feel as if maybe they thought I was getting services elsewhere, which was not the case. So I offered an explanation “I don’t have money for a foot massage today”
The girl responded “You don’t have money today?”
“I have money to tip but I don’t have extra money”
It seemed all the ladies suddenly had to check out the baked good that one of them was eating.
One of them motioned for me to meet her at a table, I sat and suggested, “You guys should do a 11th Foot Massage Free Card”
She said, “Nice hair”
Even ladies with English as a Second Language know how to throw me off course.
Kisses-
Kendra
Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.
twitter @kendracomedy
