Groupon People, Beware
A Strange But True Tale
A while back, feeling indulgent, I bought a Groupon for a facial at a nearby salon I’ll call Sheila’s Skin Care. I envisioned 90-minutes of bliss: massage, moisturizer, steam, the works. I arrived a few minutes early and found the salon empty, except for one woman sitting in the chilly, dark room, peering at a magazine. From the back, through a closed door, I could hear a loud phone conversation taking place. Sheila’s voice was rough, like shredded wood, the voice of a hard-living woman who didn’t put up with any nonsense. From the sound of things, there was nonsense afoot.
“I don’t know who’s using my f***ing dryer. All I know is that someone is using my f***ing dryer! What are you going to do about it?”
I glanced at my watch. Appointment time.
“You should knock,” said the woman with the magazine, nodding at the closed door. “Let her know you’re here.”
I knocked. I admit I did not tap out a cute little ditty: da-da-da-da-da … da-da! I just, you know, knocked. The hollow-core door shook slightly under my knuckles.
“Hold on,” said the sandpapery voice. “There’s someone here.”
Sheila opened the door. My first impression: long, pitch-black hair, heavy pitch-black eyeliner and very, very tan skin — unusual for mid-winter. “I had car problems,” she told me gruffly. “I need five minutes.”
She closed the door. My Gut piped up. “I don’t think this is going to go very well.” Then Curiosity chimed in. “True. But don’t you want to know how bad it’s going to get?” I was curious, plus I’d heard the hissing of hot steam when Sheila opened the door. I waited.
A few minutes later, I was allowed to enter the room. Here’s what Sheila did not say: Hello. Come in. Sorry about that. Thanks for waiting. Nice to meet you. Hi.
Here’s what Sheila did say: “Take off your shirt, your bra, your jewelry and your pants. Get under that blanket.”
“I think I’ll keep my pants on,” I told her. “I’m kind of chilly.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Whatever.” She turned and left. The hollow-core door trembled as it slammed.
Did my Gut have any opinion at this point? Indeed, it did. “This is too weird,” it warned me. “Do you really want this lady touching your face?” But then Curiosity made a convincing point. “I bet it will get weirder! Take your clothes off!”
So I did. Even my pants. I put on the terrycloth wrap Sheila had left for me, trying to ignore the mysterious brown stain on the front. Obediently, I lay down under the blanket and waited.
Sheila returned. Here’s what Sheila did not say: Are you comfortable? What moisturizer do you use? How would you describe your skin type? Let me tell you about the products I’ll be using today.
Here’s what Sheila did say: Do you want to know anything before I start?
“Are you in a bad mood?” I asked.
Sheila said, “I’m not in a bad mood. Are YOU in a bad mood?” Her eyes narrowed into a soot-black line. “I knew you had a bad attitude from the moment I saw you,” she continued. “The way you knocked on my door. You Groupon people are all the same!”
Ah, Groupon. That tyrannical company that forces innocent merchants to offer, against their will, a discount to lure evil Groupon People — like myself — to use their services.
Sheila wasn’t done. “If you can’t just lie here and relax, sweetheart, then you better get up off that table, get dressed and walk out that back door.”
“Sweetheart” had never sounded so menacing. My Gut clenched, but Curiosity cheered. Jackpot! Come on, it said. Lie back! Relax! You can do it!
I couldn’t.
“I’m done,” I said, but Sheila was already halfway out of the room. “Back door for you, sweetheart,” she hissed as she stormed out. The hollow-core door shuddered as she slammed it shut.
A few minutes later, I emerged through the back door into the bright, friendly sunshine. Heat seeped through my unmoisturized, unmassaged, unpampered skin, but after the chill in that room, its caress felt as warm and soothing as steam.
Willow Older is a nationally and internationally published writer and a professional editor. She lives in Northern California where she runs her own editorial services business and publishes a weekly newsletter called Newsy!.
