Dunder Mifflin

Good gravy, it's been 3 weeks since my last post! I've been overwhelmed with a visit home and approximately 1 bagillion hours of training for my spa job. That's right, they're making us become employees at the hotel spa where I work (which will not be named for obvious reasons) because...well, because there's no way on God's green earth they would ever win a lawsuit claiming worker's comp even though we're classified as independent contractors because of what we do. We are not, of course, allowed to be full time (although who would ever want to do that) because they're sure as hell not going to give us benefits, but I have been forced to add a shift.

The training on the body treatments was actually fun but we had one day of corporate training that was mind boggling. I honestly felt at one point that might have been duped into shooting an episode of The Office for free. Our manager must seriously rock the numbers because she could not be more lacking in people skills. This is a woman whose smile rarely, if ever, reaches her eyes, you know what I mean - I wouldn't trust Fakey McFakerson with a nickel. At one point, while trying to explain the deep philosophy behind customer service (this is a Five Star joint, btw, the policy is: The customer is right. Whatever that customer wants, get it and if you don't personally deliver it on a silver tray within 2.8 seconds, you're fired.) she singled out a massage therapist to make a point. "Ivan, are you happy?" she asked.

Ivan is Russian; a stocky, dark, hunk of poker-faced gravitas who will pound the shit out of your muscles. Ivan does not have emotions, he has hands of steel that were made to earn the $200 you're about to toss down for your massage. I don't think he blinks or breathes more than once or twice an hour. You don't address Ivan in front of a group of people, you don't make him participate in ridiculous group activities, you quietly fantasize about him throwing you up against the supply cabinet and having his way with you and let it go at that...but I digress.

"Ivan, are you happy?" she asked. 25 people stopped breathing and stared at her. "Yes," Ivan rumbled. "Why don't you tell your face?" She didn't just say...she couldn't possibly have... You could've heard a pin drop. "That's right...smile!" I fully expected Steve Carrell to come bursting through the door. Nevermind that the smile (customer service) was just part of the equation to the real reason we're in the spa business, MONEY! Her entire motivational speech was how this behavior would lead to making more money. She would break into the chorus from the Abba song "Money, Money, Money" often, singing into the handheld microphone she insisted on using in the 14x30 conference room. Now, I won't turn my nose up at a large paycheck, but I am in this business for a slightly larger reason...touching naked men...seriously now!, I'm a healer. I'm helping people feel better. Ew.

I decided to rise above and continue making my ridiculous paycheck there until I'm truly set up for a private practice. Until then, don't forget to tell your face you're happy!

This video, posted by my friend Kate, will help. This is from a class she took to learn how to be a Muppeteer. Muppets make it all better.