The Massage Store

The store, which had been a gathering place for massage therapists, was going out and under. The shelves were half-bare and the phone had been cut off for a week. No more job board, no more bumping into friends, trying out CD's or talking shop. The Orange County Bodywork Emporium in Costa Mesa would soon be no more.

They never carried any oils I liked, but I had bought the odd emergency bottle of oil there. They had been there for emergency chair rentals, quick re-stocks of linens or replacing broken face cradles. I enjoyed looking at the odd and curious collections of self-massage items that would come and go.

In this age, we have a good half-dozen online massage supply stores and lots of ways to connect with emails and Facebook and tweets. Yet I still like the smell of oils and the feel of sheets. I’d picked up my second and third and fourth tables there, after carefully examining the workmanship and warranties. I liked the manager's way of announcing "And the Governor’s share" when he added on the tax. The store sponsored ads in our little newsletters, sponsored Touch Foundation volunteer and public service programs. The managers even went out to classes to show people how to lift a packed table without developing lumbago.

But all this is a remembrance of things past. The stores we order from today are online warehouse-style places 20 states away. Even with shipping the prices are great and if you know what you are ordering, the experience is easy. No doubt the online thing, just like this blog, is a far more efficient way to communicate and educate.

Still, I miss the little store on Newport Ave., with its block-letter sign dwarfed by the furniture place next store "Gen X" and the sandals place on the other side.

A sign of the times, eh? It's not like massage folks will hang out at a bar somewhere – well, maybe a juice shop. I’ll have a wheat-grass. Straight up.