Surefire Cure for the Flu

So The Brick came down with the Flu a little more than a week ago (Murphy's Law said that because we stayed away when we were sick, he was bound to get it from someone else). He felt crappy. Achy. Coughy. Drippy. Never fun.

Over the course of the week I stopped by and brought movies and puzzles, hoping to offer a little distraction from the discomforts of having the flu.  The Arch Mother, not known for her compassion when loved ones are sick, didn't get much of the giggles this time. They hunkered down and weathered the storm with an increasing amount of agitation and boredom. Neither of them likes to sit still.

After a few days of not feeling better and a long night of coughing and coughing and coughing, The Doctor made a house call to make sure Dad wasn't getting pneumonia.  He pronounced Dad, sick, but not sick enough to be too worried. He told him to drink more water and suggested he get a massage to help deal with his achy back. Sounded like a great idea to Dad (never mind that everyone else had suggested it as well - some suggestions just sound better coming out of the mouth of a doctor).

So The Arch Mother made an appointment for 5:15. At 5:30 she calls me laughing.

"You're never going to believe what I just did."

Of course, I ask what she's done.

"I accidentally made that appointment for Dad's massage at a place in town center but I sent him to a place in the strip mall near by. He's going to kill me."

The massage center had called her to ask if Dad was on his way and she looked more closely at the address in the phone book and realized her mistake. If The Brick was a little irritable before, we figured he wasn't going to be delighted about being sent out on a frigid night to a strip mall where he didn't have an appointment. I hang up the phone shaking my head.

About 10 minutes later, my imagination has gotten the best of me and I'm thinking about Dad not feeling well, driving on a snowy, cold night and trying to find a massage center that may or may not be there.

I call The Arch Mother back. "What's the name of the place in the strip mall? I'll Google it and see if they can take dad later."

"I can't find the name of it.  But I'm sure there is one there," she said.

I Google and Google and I can't find a record of a massage therapist in this strip mall.  So I call a few of the businesses that I know are there and get questionable answers. "There was one but it closed. No, there is one, but no one knows the name. Maybe it's on the other side of the mall. Etc."

Now he's been gone about an hour and he's still not answering his phone.  I have to admit I'm starting to feel a little nervous. So I try one last time and I find a chiropractor with an address in the mall.  I call him and he is very helpful and tells me that he didn't take a walk in at that location because he's not there on Friday nights. I ask him if there is a massage therapist in the mall that my dad might have found.  He says:

"Well, yes there is one.  It's right next store to my office, but I am not at all affiliated with them."

He tells me the name.  I say thanks and hang up already Googling to find the phone.  I call my mom, still no word from dad and now it's been well over an hour.

I STILL CANNOT find a phone or a website for this place.  I resolve to call the chiropractor back and see if he can just give me the number, since as neighbors, I'm assuming he must have it.

"Well, if you Google it.  You should be able to find it," he said to me.

"Nope, I've looked everywhere and I can't find it, " I tell him.

"Hmmm, maybe I can look it up for you. Ummmm. Just to be clear, I have no business relationship with them. They keep kind of odd hours."

"Um, OK," I said. Now it seems like this guy is being a little strange.

"Would they be open on a Friday night?" I asked.

He's trying to find the phone number on a website that he's mentioned. I've never heard of this site, but it sounds little sketchy.

"Yes, I'm sure they'd be open on a Friday night. They are...um...sort of an nontraditional business..."

My heart sinks a little bit. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Well, we're right.

"Wait a second, are you saying that this is a cover for prostitution?"

"Um.  Yes.  I think so."

"You've GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" I thank him and hang up.

The place is about a mile from my parents house and half my family lives within walking distance from my parents. I am speed dialing my brothers.  All I can think of is that my dad resisted massages for years because he's ticklish and terribly modest. He's feeling crappy, he HATES the cold, and THE ARCH MOTHER HAS JUST SENT HIM TO A BROTHEL.

I'm not sure if I should be laughing or crying yet.

I finally get a hold of a nephew who is living near by.

"I am about to ask you to do something really weird.  But I need you to get into your car," I tell him.

I'm beginning to explain the situation when The Arch Mother calls back. I answer her call and she's laughing saying that he just walked in the door. I tell the nephew he's off the hook and I'll call him later.

"You're never going to believe it.  But he found a place that took walk-ins!" 

 "Mom, you have NO IDEA. It is a brothel."

"A what? A hotel?"

"No, mom, it's a cover for prostitution. The chiropractor told me." 

At this point, we both get the giggles.  Again, terribly inappropriate. And pretty soon I can't stop laughing.

Also, I have no idea why I am using the word brothel?  Suddenly I am from the old west?

I can hear my dad in the background.

"What did she say it was? A brothel? Well, if that's the case than I didn't get my moneys worth."

Meanwhile at my house, my nine year old proceeded to whack his face and finger on our kitchen table. So as The Brick is getting on the phone to tell me the story, I have to hang up to deal with a very bloody nose and bruised finger. Just like my mother,  I am clearly not being sympathetic enough to my poor son, but I still can't get over the fact that my mother just sent my dad to "a happy ending" kind of massage.

I finally got to talk to him later and he said the masseuse was recently emigrated from Laos (3 months), that she wasn't forward or inappropriate, but that looking back it didn't seem like a very fancy place.  He thought there was someone in the next room, but he wasn't sure.  We laughed again.  He had a great night sleep and started feeling better pretty much right away.  So in the end, the massage was just the trick.  Just not the kind of trick she might have been expecting.

You just can't make this stuff up.