“You’re exactly the type of therapist we need around here,” she said. Jenny said she liked my easygoing disposition and positive energy. The interview went well, and Jenny and I bonded over our shared love of horseback riding. But everything looked professional and clean, and the (admittedly all-female) workers all wore a fancy starched white uniform that made them look like nurses. I wasn’t a fool, and I knew that there were massage parlors and there were *wink* massage parlors, so I had my guard up a little when I first arrived. The manager Jenny* sounded lovely and warm over the phone, and I was thrilled when she invited me in for an interview the next day. Plus, the idea of great money and flexible hours sounded perfect to me so I gave them a call. I’d done a massage course during a vacation break and was always giving friends massages so I was confident I could do the job.
“Professional massage therapist wanted,” said the ad. When I was in college, I – like many students – had a zest for life, a jam-packed social calendar and not a lot of money.ĭesperate for a bit of cash, I went through the job ads religiously and one day found something that looked extremely promising.
