went to brookstone today and sat in a massage chair, because that’s what you do. the chair was already on when i sat down. it began to massage my butt in the most assertive of fashions. it was uncomfortable. i didn’t know this chair. i hadn’t even said hello. i didn’t even know its name and it was unexpectedly digging its multitudinous and sensually rotating knobs into my previously unfondled buttocks.
i sat, frozen and staring into the middle distance until a brookstone employee approached. “can i help you with anything?” he said with the friendly-but-dead-inside tone that only comes with hard retail experience.
i made full eye contact as the chair kneaded my gluteus maximus with renewed alacrity. “this machine is touching my butt,” i said, maintaining eye contact. i’m not sure what i expected him to do about it. it was too late. i’d already said it. the ball was in his court.
“it does that,” he said.