I have a story. (I almost forgot I had this story until I woke up with back pain today.)
The other week, I booked an Uber to take me to the Madrid airport. All was going as normal: I waited with my suitcase, the car arrived, the driver — a small, muscly guy — stepped out to help with my bags.
We got into the car, and as he lifted his right hand, he let out a groan. He started breathing heavily.
“Qué pasa?”, I asked in a panic.
A jolt of pain shot through his back, he said. “Va a pasar, va a pasar.”
“Okay,” I said nervously.
After a few moments, he said he was ready. The car inched forward. Then he pulled over again, shaking his head.
“Lo siento. Un minuto,” he said, stretching out his back.
“Tranquilo,” I said.
I was anxious about the time, but I couldn’t just leave him.
A thought flashed through my mind.
I ignored it.
It insisted, “Do it!”
So, I inhaled.
“Quieres un masaje?” I asked.
“I might go after I bring you to the airport.”
“No. Yo. A ti. Me. You,” I said, pointing to myself, then to him, then back to me, with wiggling fingers like an over-eager cougar.
He hesitated longer than I anticipated. Then, he giggled. “Okay.”
“Oh shit,” I thought.
I let out a long silent breath. Then I unbuckled myself, reached over, and proceeded to give my Uber driver an eight-minute back massage.
I made my flight.
The end.
***
I hope you are all having a fantastic summer.
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