Don’t be an idiot. Like me. This chair thing really hurt.
I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
To wit, 15 minutes of sheer torture in one of those coin operated massage chairs. This one at the airport in Tawau, Malaysia.
With three hours of time to kill before my flight north to Sandakan, I needed entertainment. After the chicken-rice curry, three trips to the toilet and a scan of the junk in the stores, it was time to relieve the boredom.
That’s when the bank of massage chairs appeared in view.
The Asian guy seated there looked pretty happy as the massagers pounded his butt cheeks. So, I decided to part with 5 RM ($1.51 CDN) for a 15-minute ride of my own.
A small price to pay to rehabilitate my battered body after six consecutive days of scuba diving near Mabul and Sipadan Islands.
The massage ‘treatment’ alternated between thumping every column of my spine with intense force to bludgeoning the back of my head in a way that made my grey matter bounce from back to front.
Squeezing my injured legs. Right where the bug bite scabs are.
That’s not all. Every few minutes, the chair would squeeze the bejesus out of my calf muscles. Right where the bug bite scabs and diving-mishap bruises were.
These tools of torture masquerading as oases were present at every Malaysian airports I visited. They were mostly always empty.
Don’t be tempted.
Shut up, loudmouth.
I’m cursed. Another flight, another jerk.
This guy picked a fight in the boarding line up with a snide remark suggesting I didn’t belong there. (I was in the correct boarding group, thank you very much).
When he turned around a second time, I put up my hand, told him to not talk to me again, called him rude.
Thankfully, I wasn’t seated next to him. End of story. So I thought.
Nope. I was seated across the aisle (three seats over) and two rows back. I might as well have been sitting on this jerk’s lap. He was so loud I heard practically every word he said.
As I discovered in the line, he felt compelled to share his every thought and feeling.
Felt sorry for the unfortunate soul seated next to him – who had to listen to this guy ramble non-stop for about two hours. Must’ve been torture.
Among the things he talked about:
- The price of postage.
- “I did a masters.”
- “I freaked out every time the flights changed.”
Here’s some sound advice from Tank. Please stay home. Don’t travel. That way you’ll never have to be freaked out. As well, you’ll serve humanity by allowing people like me to nap on planes, in relative peace.
This jerk has earned a spot in…….
Tank’s Travels Boor Hall of Fame
Today’s catch: A Motorola cellphone (does this company still make phones?) and a beer cap. Found while scuba diving near Los Arcos in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.
Better than a bite from a great white shark I suppose….but thinking of carrying a mesh bag when I dive to pick up the trash I find. Underwater sanitation engineer, a new job for me.
Puerto Vallarta waters are pretty free of garbage. Dive staff at Chico’s Dive Shop always picks up trash during dives.
The worst waters for garbage, in my experience, are around Bali. Terrible. Trash in the water a big problem. Truly a shame in a such a beautiful place.
Please don’t litter our waters. The little fishies need us to keep it clean.