A Shitty Massage

I kept seeing this in the back of my cabs in Bangkok. No farting allowed thank you very much.

I kept seeing this in the back of my cabs in Bangkok. No farting allowed thank you very much.

November 24, 2016

I call this when you have food poisoning but go get a massage anyways...

Getting to Bangkok was beyond hectic. There were quite a few major hiccups along the road but then we MADE IT. To celebrate being allowed into the country (don't ask), my new friends Hannah, Martin and I go out for a fancy dinner at a Japanese restaurant. After street food and absurdly cheap eats in Cambodia it felt pretty nice sitting in a real big restaurant (with a/c to boot!) and so we mowed down.

Hours later we're out for beers when Hannah suddenly gets sick. And within the hour all three of us are fighting for toilets. I'm talking every 10 minutes no matter how much imodium we take.

We spend the next 24 hours near a toilet in some fashion - including going into the super fancy malls in Bangkok, destroying bathrooms along the way. (TRAVEL TIP: fancy hotels, restaurants, and apparently malls too, always have the cleanest, most wondrous bathrooms. I love stopping in them for poo's. I highly recommend this tip to any other frequent shitters.) 

By 8pm I hadn't used a bathroom for almost 4 hours. We just changed hostels and when we got to the new one there was a massage parlour across the street.

"I would love a massage..." I say, looking at the prices.

"You really shouldn't. No way your stomach is better yet...I wouldn't risk it," says Hannah.

But I do anyways because I'm me and my favourite thing in life is massages. Especially $5 for an hour.

I go in and don the usual pants and t-shirt they give you with nothing underneath. I figure it'll relax me, do me some good.

They give me the strongest man whose ever existed. It's amazing. The first 30 minutes may have been the best of my life and I really start to relax.

But then I have to fart. That really can't be trusted, I mean, it's been quite a day. Ok, maybe just a little one. And right as I go to fart the masseuse (whose sitting on my butt) pushes down super hard on the small of my back and BAM - it's literally a poo explosion.

As I mentioned before there's a million other people in the room. And we both know immediately what's happened and he bends down right by my ear and whispers:

"You poo?"

I don't move or say a word because I'm 26 years old and I just shit myself getting a massage because I have FOOD POISONING and believed this was a good idea.

"Woooooow that never happened before" he says.

We get up and I hobble to a bathroom with a Thai lady and we clean it all up and she laughs and laughs and laughs.

I'm mortified and pay the guy a billion dollars because I shit when he was sitting on my back and they're all laughing like lunatics and I am basically running out the door when he calls out and stops me.

I turn around and he hands me a plastic bag, nicely tied shut.

With the poo pants inside.

"For you," he croons, "giftttttt"

And they all laugh and laugh as I run as fast as I can to the hostel.

Moral of the story? Don't get a fucking massage when you have the shits. $5 or not.

Kate PaddisonComment