You’ve Been On the Table Too Long If…
You’ve Been On the Table Too Long If…
Massage Humor from the Frontlines of Relaxation Overdose
We love our clients.
We really do.
But sometimes… somewhere between the sixth sigh and the thirteenth request for “just five more minutes”—we start to wonder...
Have you been on the table too long?
Here’s how to tell:
1. You’ve fused with the sheet.
We go to lift your arm and it’s… stuck. At this point, you're more burrito than human. We may have to cut you out.
2. Your face cradle imprint is now your actual face.
You leave looking like a topographic map of the Rockies.
No judgment—we just hope it smooths out by dinner.
3. You’ve cycled through all five stages of grief—twice.
Denial: "This can’t be almost over.”
Anger: "Why didn’t I book 90 minutes?”
Bargaining: "If I give you five bucks can you keep going?"
Depression: “Don’t make me go back to the real world…”
Acceptance: "...Fine, but I’m rebooking."
4. You’ve given your therapist a full TED Talk.
We now know your birthday, your ex’s deepest flaws, your childhood pet’s name, your favorite pasta shape, and your plan to become a lighthouse keeper.
Thank you. We feel close now.
5. Your soul left your body at minute 42 and hasn’t returned.
You’re here… but also very much not here.
We’re gonna need a net and a bell to retrieve you.
6. You forgot your name, your zip code, and why you even booked this massage.
All you know is: “I am goo. Goo is me.”
7. You’ve become emotionally attached to the heating pad.
We get it. She’s warm, she’s loyal, she never judges your knots.
But no, you can’t take her home.
8. You’ve started speaking in whispers. Forever.
Post-table, you walk into the waiting area and whisper,
“Can I Venmo you?” like you’re in a library.
Your nervous system is so soothed, you’re now 85% Zen Monk.
9. You tried to tip in hugs, snacks, or interpretive dance.
While we appreciate the passion, Venmo still works best.
10. You’ve scheduled your next appointment... before you even sat up.
Still horizontal. Face down. Arm flailing toward your phone.
Respect. This is peak massage veteran energy.
We get it. Massage is magic.
But there is a point where you’ve officially crossed into "melted marshmallow in a body bag" territory. And we salute you.
Just remember—your nervous system may be ready for hibernation, but checkout still exists.
This one's for the kneaders, the tension tamers, the tireless tissue whisperers. You've survived too-tight schedules, way-too-chatty clients, and someone definitely wearing cologne called "Midlife Crisis, Eau de Regret"... and you're still standing (barely, but proudly).
Here's your sass-infused therapy mantra of the week.
You are one forearm away from solving world peace, if only people booked 90-minute sessions.
Your deep pressure is emotionally cathartic, like a hug that tells trauma to pack its bags.
You've got enough towel origami skills to work at a five-star resort or start a boutique zoo.
You don't "just" realign muscle fibers; you spiritually realign lives. One glute at a time.
So stretch your wrists, refill that diffuser, and walk into the treatment room like the royalty you are.
Because stress walks in, and you send it packing. With lotion, grace, and just enough sass to keep it interesting.
Got your own "massage coma" tale or time-warping relaxation story? We're collecting anonymous tales of deep space snoozes, tension teleportation, and, yes, the occasional client drool. No judgment, just legendary relaxation. Share yours with us! Email us at [email protected].
