Attack of the Man-Eating Massage Chair

My back and neck had been killing me again, so I decided to visit the chiropractor just down the street to see if he could release some of the tension.

After a quick adjustment, they ushered me into another room to have me sit in their massage chair for a while. Of course, I had been on a massage chair before, but this one was different. It looked like a La-Z-Boy on steroids. A Massagechairosaurus. Sitting on it (or more accurately, in it) I felt as if I were about to go on some type of extended, deep-space mission.

Just before I climbed aboard, I took my phone out of my pocket and set it over on the table next to the chair so it wouldn’t get damaged or, more important, interfere with the massage. Then, after she set the timer and pushed the start button, the assistant left the room and shut the door.

Heaven ensued.

This chair didn’t just focus on my neck and back. It massaged my feet, my calves, my thighs, my hands, my arms, my shoulders. And it worked on all of these areas simultaneously. As the rollers performed miracles on the soles of my feet, others kneaded the knots in my back, while the upper part of the chair squeezed my shoulders tightly, as if it were giving me a great big massage chair hug. I could just feel the tension oozing out of me.

After a few minutes of this, the chair suddenly tilted backward, raising my legs into the air like I was about to blast off into the atmosphere. Meanwhile its mechanical hands continued to work their magic, relieving all the tightness and stress that had built up from work and my kids. For the first time in weeks I felt completely relaxed.

Then my phone made the text message sound.

Must be my wife, I thought. My appointment had gone on a little longer than expected, and she was probably wondering when I’d be home for dinner. Oh well, it probably wouldn’t be much longer now.

But then, just when I thought the massage was over, the chair began another cycle, lowering back down to the starting point and running through the same routine as before. Meanwhile the texts kept coming.

I gotta get to my phone…

As the chair began yet another cycle and lifted me back to an upright position, I tried to pull my arm out of the sleeve it was in and reach for the phone. But just then the chair “hugged” me again and I couldn’t get my arm out or sit forward enough to reach. Next thing I knew it was once again lowering me back into launching position.

Over and over the chair repeated its cycle as, over and over, I tried to free myself from its grasp and grab my smartphone, which continued to beep. Each time, just as I would almost manage to free myself, the mechanical hands would tighten their hold and once again prevent me from escaping.

I couldn’t believe it—I was being held captive by a giant, man-eating massage chair!

By this time the overwhelming relaxation I had been feeling had coagulated back into one big mass of tension. I imagined I’d never be able to escape, forever held prisoner by this diabolical contraption. At one point I almost managed to break free, but then the chair automatically adjusted, squeezing even harder, like an anaconda trying to suffocate its prey. That’s when it occurred to me that I just might end up being crushed in its black pleather grasp.

Death by massage—what an embarrassing yet relaxing way to go!

Then, just as I was about to scream out for help, the door opened and the assistant walked in.

“Oops, sorry,” she said, pushing the stop button and immediately bringing me back to an upright position. “Looks like we accidentally set it for 45 minutes instead of 15.”

The now powerless chair released its grip, enabling me to climb out from within. Grabbing my phone, I made a b-line for the door, my neck and shoulders more tense than when I had first I walked in. The rest of me, however, felt like Jell-O.

Some have harrowing tales of surviving an animal attack or a natural disaster. But few can say they went one-on-one with a man-eating massage chair and lived to tell about it.

I guess you can count me with the lucky ones.~

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Copyright © 2015 Valentine J. Brkich