No, I Do Not Offer Happy Endings

This is the foot I want to shove up your ass if you come looking for sex at a massage therapy salon. But it will have a boot on it. andreas160578 on Pixabay no copyright

I’ve joined Instagram to promote my work as a massage therapist. The weird and wonderful things I’ve seen in just a month….crikey. I was not ready to reenter social media, y’all. I do not think that has any bearing on my ability to reenter “polite society”, mind, but I still feel left out of the collective party.

So, aside from being messaged relentlessly by scammers who offer me thousands of pounds to promote their product to my <checks notes> 145 followers, I have been asked to send money to the Gambia, sent weird halloes from strangers, and been asked about my personal life. It is all okay because there is a block button.

I’m a big girl, I can handle some weirdness at a remove, but when someone comes to your place of work, things go badly, and you wonder if Instagram brought them there, it can go something like this:

<Sweaty, gleckit eyed man in his late 20s comes down the stairs, wheezily>

Me: “Hello, can we help you?”

My coworker and her client getting a pedicure: “ Hi! Hello!”

Sweaty man: “I’m just looking for a massage. Found this place on the internet, been trying all day to get a massage. Do you have any time just now?”

Me: “I do have two hours free at the moment, yes. Would you like to come into the treatment room here?” I…