In all honesty when I was younger I hooked up a lot. The band I was with had a good agency, and they sent us all over the southeast. That all changed when I picked up an STD. You have no idea how much fun it was telling a doctor you couldn’t give him the name of your partners because you hadn’t bothered to get them. He had to settle for a list of the places I remembered. Management was not happy when they were contacted by the health department and were told to place posters of me in the ladies room saying if you’ve had contact with this man come in for a check up. The band had jobs canceled and had to fire me for self preservation. I had no hard feelings, but it was years before I played in that state again.
I still played occasionally, But I made sure they looked clean and unmarried. I had a friend who met up with a woman and made regular visits whenever he was in town. When her husband found out he smashed his hands with a ball bat, ending his career as a keyboard player. He works in a warehouse now. I also used industrial grade protection
Tonight I was still on a high from the great session we had played, so I broke my normal rule and decided to have a beer. I usually didn’t drink anything after a gig because I always had to drive home at two or three in the morning, and at the first bobble you were pulled. If they smelled alcohol they made you get out of the car and do stupid human tricks. Then they brought out the breathalizer. When you only blew a 1, they usually sent you on your way after giving you a lecture. You just lost forty five minutes to an hour of your life you couldn’t get back, and were even more tired when you got home.
It was five minutes for last call, just enough time for one.
I idly eavesdropped on the two waitresses sitting behind me. A tall platinum blond and a smaller but bustier redhead. I had passed them on the way to the bar. I heard one groan.
“They worked us like dogs tonight. I think my feet are gonna fall off.”
“Mine too. I worked last night also. I may have to crawl to the car.”
I should have left it alone, but my good mood pushed me over to the table. I gave them my best non threatening smile.
“Hi girls, may I sit?”
I could see it in their eyes, two a. m. and some asshole still wanted to hit on them. I saw a flash of recognition from the red head.
“Say, aren’t you in to band?”
“Yeah, I’m the bass player. Wiley.”
The redhead answered for both.
“This is Sammi, with an i. I’m sandy, with a y. Please , sit, but you’ll have to get another chair. All these are tied up.”
They had their feet propped on the other chairs. I grabbed one from another table.
“That’s why I came over. I can fix it.”
Sandy looked me over pretty good.
“How can you fix aching feet?”
“With my hands. You see before you a certified physical therapist, specializing in sports massage. I’ve got a diploma and a license.”
This was true. Music wasn’t my first choice as a profession. I played at night to make money to put me through school. I had this vision of helping female tennis and volleyball players reach new heights. When I had to do my mandatory internship, I was assigned to a college football team. After massaging the legs of a 339 lb defensive lineman who was screaming to make it stop hurting right fucking now or he was going to give me enough bruises to require my own therapist I decided not to give up my night job.
I still keep my certification up, just in case.
The blond wasn’t buying it.
“A diploma. Really? Can I see it?”
I stood up. I didn’t care for the sarcasm.
“Sure you can. It’s hanging on my living room wall, twenty miles from here. Follow me and you can look at it. But you can’t stay long, I have to sleep.”
She had the decency to look a little embarrassed.
“I will give you one piece of advise though. Lose the high heels and wear a comfortable walking shoe. It will reduce the strain a lot.”
I was turning to leave when Sandy asked me to wait.
“The boss makes us wear them. He says it makes the men buy more drinks.”
I looked at their outfits. A white form fitting scoop necked shirt and black short shorts.
“At the risk of sounding like a pig, dressed as you are how many men in here tonight could tell you what kind of shoe you had on? Let’s do this, bring a pair of walking shoes in tomorrow and stash them behind my amp. Wait until it gets busy and slip them on to see if anybody notices. At the end of the night show the shoes to the boss.
I read a paper about the negative impact high heels can have on women who stand most of the time. The doctor visits and absenteeism went down 31% in one retail giant alone. I’ll find it and print it out. Give it to him tomorrow. Good night girls.”
Sandy pleaded.
“Please stay. I’m in pain, do what you can to help, but I swear, if I find out you’re a pervert with a foot fetish a double will accidentally get dumped on your mixing board tomorrow.”
I sat back down and gently took her foot in my hand.
“Please don’t do that, it’s exactly where we want it. I better do a good job so I don’t lose a $3400
piece of equipment. Hold still.”
Massage is alignment. If the muscle is properly aligned to the tendon, and the tendons are safely aligned to the bone then the pain should go away. Two days of running around in high heels on a concrete floors had her feet in terrible condition.