You're a massage client at the local massage school. You and 11 other lucky people fill out forms in the waiting room while you hear laughter, the rattling sound of curtains being pulled, and the clank of pens being thrown back in a coffee cup.
One by one, cheerful blue-shirted massage students open the sliding door and call out a name. The typical "I'm trying to remember to do a good greeting" greetings occur, with introductions and handshakes. Clients get escorted to their curtained-in cubicle, and the usual questions get asked. "Any changes since your last appointment? How's your diabetes doing? Any tingling in your feet or toes? No? Good. Any particular aches or pains you'd like me to work on today?"
And so it goes. The overhead lights are off, but the side lights are on, giving the cubicles a nice cozy feel. Some atmospheric "waves and birds" music is going on in the background.
The therapists step out into the aisle, closing curtains behind them, as the clients undress and get on the tables, covering up with the white rented sheets. Laundry service is a wondrous thing, really.
When the clients call out, each therapist begins his or her session. Warm hands, deep and deliberate strokes, lotion, stretches. The clients drift off, if all goes well. After a while, the room is quiet. We hear the occasional murmur of a question being asked, an instruction given. We hear a rattle of a chair being pulled around, or a cough.
The "waves and birds" switches to to some "woooooOOOOoooooSAILAWAYSAILAWAYSAILAWAY" stuff. The therapists' hands stiffen for just a second. Just a wee pause. Then a stifled snicker. The room is suddenly awash in tiny sounds of amusement, annoyance, and resignation.
Another Enya album has come up on the rotation of background music. Another one. I swear, the instructor promised to never do this to us again. Oh for god's sake. Can't we EVER get through a session without that repetitive Irish woman?
The one with the guy on the panflute playing the Beatles is bad enough. And that one that's trying to be Native American? It's synthesized.
But really? Enya??
Please sail the hell away.