Where Not to Go for a Massage in Land Park

One of the best ways for this agent to deal with a million and one little crises in Sacramento real estate is to head for the nearest spa for a Swedish massage. It’s been about a year since I’ve been over to the spa on 6th Street at Southside Park, but it’s been on my mind recently. The reason is a seller of a home near Southside Park met with me at my real estate office in Midtown last week to talk about selling a family home on U Street. That home is right around the corner from a certain bed and breakfast spa, but when I mentioned the Spa, he did not realize it was there, although it’s been in business at that location for years.

This Spa at Southside Park — the name of which is not relevant– is close to my home in Land Park, and I consider myself a regular client, even though it’s been a while since I made an appointment. I called on Friday and left a message. When nobody called back, I called again and left another message. Around noon on Saturday, I called a third time and this time a live person answered the phone. She promised to check on an appointment and call me back in 10 minutes. I waited an hour and called her again.

The employee at the Spa said she had left a voice mail. What number did she call? Turns out she had written down my number incorrectly and left a voice mail on somebody else’s phone. And she had called not in 10 minutes as promised but 30 minutes later, she confessed. See, this is the thing — you don’t tell a person you will call them back in 10 minutes and then not do it. Plus, you make sure you have called the right number.

Gah.

All the more reason to have a massage. These people can be irritating. But, wait, it gets better. Then the owner called me an hour before my appointment. She said her employee forgot to obtain my credit card number to verify the appointment. My appointment was in one hour, for crying out loud. I find it odd that you need to pressure me for my credit card number to assure that I will show up, even though I am a regular client, I complained. She glossed over that comment and demanded my credit card number.

In retrospect, I should have refused and hung up the phone. I considered it. But then I would not have received a massage.

Which, as it turned out, would not have been a big loss. It was unlike any Swedish massage I’ve ever had. Lots of stroking over and over. Not much pressure, even though I requested more pressure. A Swedish massage is a little bit like a pancake: you bake one side, flip it and do the other. When I turned over, I received a lot of stroking down each side of my neck and then there were hands on my head, squeezing here and there. I was pronounced done.

Where did they find this guy? Did they yank him out behind the counter at Mak’s gas station?

I asked if this Spa was under new ownership. Yes, it is.

There is a massage place over on 19th Street in Midtown. It’s a bit further to drive and not as convenient but I imagine they’re doing a bang-up business there. I can see why. There is also a spa on Riverside in Land Park, which is even closer to my home, that I should check out. Because this former client won’t be going back to that place at Southside Park.