Penguin Woman Redux

I think I’ve gotten rid of her now. Jeezus, I hope so.

It was simply the Week Of Flakes. Last Monday, the intermittent client wished on me by one of the personal trainers at my gym, who comes dressed as if going to a dinner party in the year 1953, complete with jewelry, stack heels, and matte lipstick, and commits a heaving inhale and forceful sigh about every ninety seconds while on the table; then Penguin Woman with her car blocking my driveway and her gabbling incoherent explanations; then an unexpected call from an old client who moved out of the area but got sent here for work this week and did I have a spot? Which is okay, but I belatedly remembered that this is the person who usually shows up late, takes an inordinate amount of time to undress and get on the table, an even longer time to dress again — I’m talking fifteen or twenty minutes to put on a tee shirt and a pair of slacks — and doesn’t know how to leave. I instructed the Engineer to produce cooking smells on the stroke of the clock that I expected to finish the session.

Just before Dilatory Former Client was due, there was a rap on the door and there stood Penguin Woman, now attired in street clothes that made her resemble Tweedledum or Tweedledee. “I just wanted to explain what happened this morning,” she said.

Ah. That would be Wednesday morning actually. It was now Friday.

She gabbled some more about how the car died and she didn’t know what to do and wanted me to realize it wasn’t like she was some drunk who had run up on the sidewalk. At this point, I did not care. I wanted her the fuck off my porch. She continued to ramble on about how the couple across the street had called her up on seeing her car aground there; possibly this was meant to tweak me for not recognizing the vehicle, though a note on my door would have worked wonders, I have to say. This is why I do not socialize with neighbors. Sturgeon’s Law states that 90% of everything is crap. That includes interactions with other humans. At least even my flakiest clients are paying me for the time I spend pretending that their screwy behaviors are normal, a transaction I am prepared to honor. This was just taking away minutes I would never get back.

“It’s okay, I’m glad you’re okay and the car’s okay, everything’s okay,” I kept repeating, wondering if I was going to have to bodily eject her from the enclosure. I noticed that she had parked the car facing the wrong way at the curb.

I think I’ve hit my quota for the year. Any  more of this shows up, I’m sending it back.


9 thoughts on “Penguin Woman Redux

  1. You know, the main thing this post leaves me with is a burning desire to let you work on me. Because I would make all the right noises and be so fucking grateful. I’ve never had what you do in my life – but it picture it like what I do for fun. While drunk, because someone is favouring a shoulder, etc. But you actually know that the hell you are doing, and would find those places on me I can’t reach or properly evaluate.
    You really do have some classy neighbours. I wish I could suggest a wall of thorns, but dammit, clients!

    • I’m not sure there are “right” noises, but there’s something really grating about a person who makes a big show of “taking a deep breath.” I hear everything from snores to yelps, it’s all good, but you know this chick read somewhere that relaxation is accompanied by deep abdominal breathing, and she proceeds to enact the least relaxed breathing I have ever witnessed. Blargh. (There’s a laundry list of other eccentricities of the sort that make you change your seat on the bus, but I felt like I was already being a little mean and didn’t enumerate.)

      It would be so much fun to work on blog friends!!!

      • Don’t suppose there is any international ‘hey, you know what you are doing so I like you’ therapists group? Hubby has a massive build up of urea because of stupid kidneys that are trying to kill him. I gave his particularly bad leg a go over and he is over compensating for joint pain and making other muscles sore. Not helping. He doesn’t trust me, however much I say don’t tell me and find the pain with my fingers. Sigh

        • There might be, and certainly ought to be, but I’m not in it alas.
          Them kidneys. I know only the one thing which I’ve been using on my longtime client who had a sudden attack of kidney failure out of the blue — which is doing deep compressions on Kidney Point #1 in the Chinese meridian scheme, that being in the middle of the arch of the foot. You know it when you find it because the victim hits the ceiling. You sort of pump these points with your thumb a dozen or twenty at a go every day or two. All I can say with confidence is that the point is sensitive on a person with adrenal or kidney issues. But if I was dealing with either, I’d thumb hell out of it.

          • Yes, that’s exactly what a person does when you hit that point. I remember it well from the days when I was having acupuncture. There’s a similar one right on the inside of the knee, and I used to tense up with dread every time, which made the whole thing worse.

          • Oh hell. He’s ticklish. HATES me near his feet. I will try…not now, he is all stressed out as we just bought plane tickets to America and aren’t sure if the CC will cover it. Gulp.

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