Joy’s 5-star review:
After walking down the length of Manhattan a few days ago and then sitting on my butt for ten hours straight at work, my back, neck, shoulders, and feet were a mess. If you could take a picture of how my spine felt, it would be a gnarled, sad old tree. Finally, I realized I worked five minutes away from Chinatown and had a plethora of cheap massage places at my fingertips. What a time to be alive. I picked Relax Foot because of the enthusiastic reviews and the $30 price for a 1-hour foot and back massage (say what?!). The fact that they called me five minutes after I messaged them for an appointment time only confirmed the choice.
Here's a breakdown of everything that happened:
6:30 pm: I walk in, nervously eyeing the establishment, jittery from the taro bubble tea I had downed a few minutes before. This would turn out to be a rookie mistake. Anyway, Relax has a series of chairs set up in one room and three more beds further inside. I got a bed. Lucky ole me. Some curtains cordon you off from the other customers so if you're not into the meaty, thwacking sounds of your neighbor getting his back rubbed, uh, find a massage place not in this city?
6:35: Soaking my poor, abused toes in some heavenly, herbal water. A lady is working on my back and keeps tsk-ing at the knots riddling my shoulders. She irons some out with her thumbs and elbows. Heavenly.
~6:50: I maneuver myself face-down onto the bed. Uh-oh. I hear the bubble tea sloshing around inside my belly. She starts rubbing down my spinal column. My body keeps swinging between agony at all the liquid trapped inside and blissful relief at how good it feels. At one point, my stomach belches out this massive gurgle. I try to mask it with a prolonged coughing fit.
~7:10: I flip over, thankful that my masseuse's powerful jabs haven't caused projectile vomiting. She starts working on my feet. There's this Chinese reflexology map of the foot that shows how all of the ailments in the body are tied to the feet. I've been told before that my bladder, my pancreas, my lungs, and my heart are all afflicted to some extent. Now, my stomach keeps making these disgusting burping and sloshing sounds. The masseuse gives me a knowing smile as she digs her thumbs into the soles of my feet. I try not to whimper aloud for fear of disturbing my neighbor's serenity.
~7:25: My masseuse is wrapping up. I feel gloriously rubbed down, like a cat shaking out its fur. I feel loosened up and generous towards all on earth, especially the people I'm going to have to fight in order to wedge myself onto the express train.
~7:35 pm: I stagger into the pellucid, balmy air that is a spring night in Chinatown, my eyes bloodshot, as though I've been sobbing whereas in actuality, I've been face-down and dozing off. Because my limbs are so relaxed, I find myself doing a drunken weave down Lafayette. Strangers keep staring at me nervously; tourist families give me a wide berth on the sidewalk. Try not to wear your contacts to a massage. Each and every time, I come out looking like a drowned rat in the eyes.
DAMAGE: $30. I left a 33.3% tip. I'll be back (without idiotically consuming a large drink beforehand).