IDID Health & Life Preservation Center

Worst foot massage EVER!!! Random chick kept rubbing me in the same spot while trying to watch a movie. THEN… She fell ASLEEP while doing the piss poor massage!

To continue the story…
THE SATURDAY FOOT MASSAGE ODYSSEY — A review in Two Parts — This is Part 2
ACT II («The Turning Point»)
Consider the significance of the feet throughout history.
First, there’s the washing of the feet in the Gospels of Luke (Chapter 7:36−50) and John (Chapter 13:1−15) in which Jesus basically relates the act as a sort of communion, by which one welcomes another into one’s house, and metaphorically into one’s heart.
Then, there’s Achilles, who destroyed his opponents in Homer’s «Illiad» using his superhuman strength, but was himself annihilated when his heel, the one vulnerable spot on his body, was struck with an arrow.
Finally, there’s «Pulp Fiction,» in which Jules and Vincent talk about crossing boundaries when one person gives another person a foot massage.
So you see, the foot has been given a lot of importants throught he ages. You gotta take care of them.
So on that day, despite being really beat that day I plodded on.
I considered pushing the Eject button on this whole dealio, but it was like that scene in «Harold and Kumar» where one of the dudes realized that he didn’t have his cell, but said «f*ck it» since they had «gone too far.» That was me.
I had driven all the way to effing Monrovia — and was now driving all over SGV for a $ 15 foot massage — if I boned out NOW, my waking up early and driving to BF Monrovia would’ve been all in vain. But to be sure, I was irate as we turned hither and tither, crossing the same streets more than once, I swear — like it was one giant put-​on.
Suddenly, I looked up and saw a store sign that read «The Turning Point.» I don’t know what that joint was, but there I was having my own Brechtian moment. G-​d (or some metaphysical author) was telling me SOMETHING. And just as I saw that sign, we flipped a final U-​ey and parked.
We entered a non-​descript storefront and into a big room filled with leather (or was it pleather?) armchairs with matching ottomans. There were two customers already passed out as their respective masseuses worked on their feet.
A nice lady told us to «please have a seat.» We did, then two other masseuses walked out from the back. They placed tubs of warm water at our feet and we placed our de-​shoed footsies into said water. I felt the hectic-​ness of the previous hour drain from my body and into the tub. I closed my eyes.
My masseuse went to work on my back, kneading the stress away. After a while, she started on my feet. I was effing heaven, y’all. For a whole effing hour, I was in a state of relaxation. The temperature of the room was just right. The armchairs were really comfy. And the foot massage… oh, the foot massage. To say more would be to say too much.
The only thing missing from this über-​decadent experience was a glass of Johnny Walker Blue Label and an Arturo Fuente cigar.
At the end of it, I truly considered handing my masseuse another $ 20 to keep going, but since I had plans that night, I thought better of it. Can you imagine? A TWO HOUR FOOT MASSAGE for the same price as a one hour regular massage?!
There are plenty of foot massage places on this street (Valley is like the Mecca of those kinda joints), but the IDID Health & Life Preservation Center was really, really good to me, so I highly recommend it.
Thank goodness, I didn’t bone out on the whole enterprise.
P. S. It was a happy ending indeed — but not the kind you think, you nasty sumbeetch.*
*That’s for you, Sean Y.