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Typical Day

BuffGerard awakens at 7:45, takes a leisurely walk through his Zen garden, brews himself a pot of orange pekoe, performs a quick salute to the sun, and it's off to work. He gets into his office a little before 9—just in time for his first appointment. It's a new client—a very pretty young woman who is here for a full-body massage. This may be tempting for the ordinary man, but BuffGerard doesn't see gender. At least that's what he tells his pretty young clients.

BuffGerard engages in some polite small talk near the beginning of the massage, but leaves the girl alone the rest of the time. Some clients may continue to converse because they feel obligated to do so, and he doesn't like to put them in that position. He simply says enough to make them feel at ease, and then shuts up. He asks a few times throughout if the pressure he is applying is too much or too little, but that's about it.

His 10 o’clock is a regular: Eddie Santoro. The greatest challenge with this particular client is making sure his fingers don't get caught in Eddie's back hair. It happened once before, and he practically needed the jaws of life to free him. It's a pretty thick thicket of back whiskers, but BuffGerard has learned to maneuver through and around them pretty well over the years.

His 10:45 cancels...something about her car breaking down in the middle lane of the freeway or some such hogwash—but it is such short notice that she’ll still have to pay for the session. He takes advantage of the unexpected lull to help himself to more orange pekoe. While drinking his tea, he goes online and fiddles with his website. He taught himself a bit about web design so he wouldn't have to rely on anyone else for updates, and it's a decision he doesn't regret. This way he can add testimonials, keep up his blog, and make changes with any new affiliations or certifications he would like prospective clients to know about. He can also add an image to the homepage of the French cartoon character he created to represent his business—Monsieur Masseur. He's proud of that one.

BuffGerard has one more appointment at 11:30, then it's an hour lunch and back in the office for more of the same.

His 1:30 injured her back playing basketball. He focuses on that area, but not exclusively. All of the muscles are connected, after all, and massaging only the strained area would not be optimal. He can't massage as aggressively as he usually does, as he has to be careful not to exacerbate existing injuries.

His 3:00 just signed her divorce papers and is treating herself to a little much-needed relaxation, and BuffGerard is happy to provide her with just that. He pops in the CD she brought herself—a Sarah McLachlan album. For him, listening to Sarah would only remind him of sick and dying animals and would hardly be relaxing, but if it works for his client, then that's all that matters.

His final appointment of the day has been seeing him for years about a neck thing. Despite BuffGerard's best efforts, the condition has continued; however the client insists that even the temporary relief brought on by the massage is enough to keep coming back. Since the paychecks keep coming, BuffGerard has absolutely no problem with that.

Once he is finished working his magic on his regular's neck, he waves so long to the receptionist on his way out the door at 5:30, and stops at McDonald's on the way home. He has spent all day making other people feel comfortable. Now he needs a little comfort food of his own.