For all you sadists out there who enjoy physical pain and verbal abuse, I have got the spot for you.
It started out innocently enough.
"Do you have any openings after 3," I innocently inquired.
"How about 3:30?"
I was excited. I knew it wouldn't be a walk in the park, they never are, but I knew the end result would bring me great pleasure. I mean, have you ever had a facial?
I arrived a little early, eager to get the ball rolling, at the Worst Place On Earth, Westmount Square. Now, what makes the WPON so horrible is a combination of old lady stores, old ladies from Westmount and snobs. It's a breeding ground for jerks. I had a gift certificate I had lost and found and was anxious to take care of some less than awesome developments on my face.
Enter the Bringer of Pain (BOP). Otherwise known as Celina, the Russian esthetician who would be performing today's emotional rape.
We go into the treatment room. Our first exchange lets me in on what will soon become painfully clear - this woman has no soul or sense of humour. If you will:
(heavy Russian accent) BOP: take off clothes, jewellery, bra. get on bed.
(giggling nervously) me: my skirt too?
BOP: no. get on bed.
me: ok good. i was wondering what kind of facial this was!
(unable to process joke at hand in an effort to diffuse tension) BOP: will not know what kind of facial to give until I see skin.
Yes. Of course. How silly of me to joke at a time like this.
I am then asked when the last time was I received a facial. This line of questioning is akin to the "How many alcoholic drinks do you have in one week?" from your doctor and the "How often do you floss?" from your dentist. You will never answer correctly and as such there will be judging. I mumble something about 6 years ago and we proceed. I tell her I'm afraid I might have a touch of rosacea as I've always been a little pink. She pulls out her 5000 watt lightbulb/magnifying mirror and takes a look.
"Oh yes. You have rosacea. Big time." Heavy Russian accent.
I'm starting to feel bad about myself. Big time.
But before she can do anything, she needs to wax off half my eyebrow (searing pain) because it's "too big" and tells me I should get some electrolysis on my chin. I remind myself that I am paying this woman to make my feel bad about myself. Now I am amused.
Then with utter disgust, she says, "Your skin is dry and full of dead skin cells. And blackheads. I can't do anything until you get rid of the dead skin." Self-esteem plumetting. BOP suggests I try this "Microdermabrasion" that all the soccer moms and old battle axes are using to look nothing like their real age. BOP says it will get rid of my dead skin. Anything to get my sense of self-worth back on track. I agree. BOP has just upsold me on another $40 treatment, effectively scaring me into getting my face sanded off.
BOP then proceeds to run a sander/vacuum all over my face. I start thinking about how hilarious this whole situation really is. Great idea for blog starts flowing through head. BOP will become famous sadist, will have me to thank for all her life's success. She will then have no choice but to sand and vacuum my face for free.
BOP decides it's time to get the blackheads out. I'll spare you the details but will tell you this: Not only was it some of the most intense pain of my life, she had two alcohol soaked rags she used to perform the task. These rags were draped across my mouth and nose. A foggy image of ether soaked rags flickers through my now sluggish mind - is BOP part of some underground Russian mob that sands your face off and then knocks you out?
The whole thing took 2 hours. Some of it was nice - there was some rubbing and a nice facial mask (which didn't feel all that good as BOP left the room for something like 20 minutes and I really had to pee).
In BOPs defense, my skin actually looks pretty good now, and my self-esteem is back on track. I probably won't go back, unless my sense of self worth gets overly inflated, at which point I'll head on in for a reality check.
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