Workplace 11 - Massage The Rapist

In the Brisbane Hilton there is a gym for the use of private members and hotel guests. I’m assuming it’s still there anyway, the name it operated under while I was there doesn’t exist so who knows? Let me know if you do. Anyway.

I heard that they were looking for a Massage Therapist and arranged an interview to meet the hulking body builder who owned the gym for an interview. (It wasn’t owned by the Hilton, maybe they rented the space? No idea.) Anyway, we had a coffee and a chat, he shared his long-term goals and aspirations for the fitness centre and I nodded a lot. 

(Job hunter tip – this is an excellent way to get hired)

Consequently I started at BODY FX the next week. He had polo shirts made up for all the staff saying things like “PERSONAL TRAINER” and “NUTRITIONIST” across the back so that we all remembered who was who. Mine, of course, read “MASSAGE THERAPIST” which unfortunately from a distance looked more like MASSAGE  THE  RAPIST. Totally different message.

This job was great. I booked in my own clients so I could more or less choose my own hours and knew when my next job was in advance. And because the gym was very new it was also very quiet. Not many people knew about it yet, the only clients we had were the occasional hotel guests. This meant that the majority of my day was spent either in the pool, the sauna or being taken through exercises by one of the bored personal trainers. Or meeting up with mates for a game of tennis on the Hilton rooftop court. They were golden days, my friends, golden.

The real bonding of the BODY FX team came through Hanaichi. For those of you who haven’t heard of Hanaichi, it’s a small Japanese fast food chain that only has 8 items on its menu. (http://www.hanaichi.com.au/) But they are amazing. So tasty and addictive. As far as I knew, at that point the only Hanaichi in Brisbane was directly under the Hilton in the city and every staff member of the gym went there every day for Curry Chicken. The whole place would smell of curry all afternoon and people trying to work out would glare at us as we sat and feasted. It was awesome. Go and check it out. You’ll never stop eating it though.

So despite the food, the lazy hours and opulent work benefits, I left after a couple of months. ‘Why?’ I hear you cry. ‘I would burn my office down for such a job!’ Well, dear reader, I’ll tell you. The Mother of all reasons. Actually, just the Mother. The owners Mum took to hanging around the gym. She was a grumpy old biddy, never happy with anything and she did not like me. I was always too noisy or too messy or hadn’t done something. Is harassing too strong a word? I don’t think so. The woman was a shrew and it’s rare that I put up with that. So I didn’t. One day during one of her rants I asked if the ad for my position was still saved somewhere. When she said it probably was I suggested that she put it back up, as I wouldn’t be coming in anymore. Beating her to the punch of firing me was most satisfying.

And I kept the shirt.

So this job really is loaded with the good stuff. Easy hours, great work conditions. Pay was base plus commission depending on how many massages I did.

Good people and no stress (Except the Mother)

Downsides are a bit petty. Catching the bus in peak hour every day, putting up with the Mother. Being forced to exercise for the amusement of trainers – is that a con? Hmmm...

(Oh, and you will need to be a qualified Massage The Rapist for this position, as well as a member of lots of associations that assure people you won’t kill them accidently.)