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True Tales of the Sanduny Spa

January 12, 2015 Leave a comment Go to comments

Mrs. Mandy Koch

I was all cooped up doing housework when –Ding Dong –I got a surprise visit from the girls.

“We’re the girls,” lisped an unattractive man in a neon pink track suit. Three large men stood behind him, all dressed like the lisper. “You look stressed. You need to go to the spa.”

I didn’t think I had the time, but next thing I know I’m sitting in the back of a long black automobile, surrounded by my girlfriends. “We’re your girlfriends,” the man lisped, “and we’re taking you to the spa.”

“You deserve it,” added the husky voice of the behemoth (his track suit must have been custom made) next to him, “you’ve been working too hard.”

Well, I couldn’t argue with that! Nobody works harder than Mandy Koch! Whether it’s chopping wood for some mysterious eventual use, or teaching pets the truth about people, Mandy Koch is one busy gal.

But the weasly lisper took off his glove and slapped the husky fatman cross the face so hard my hoop earrings hummed like a tuning fork, and I got a great idea for a fun craft that anyone could enjoy.

Next, the lisper rapped on the partition and told the driver we had to make an unexpected stop. Two of the fat men kinda wheezed out a laugh, and squinted.

I never liked squinting, so I gave em the ol Mandy Koch cluck of disapproval and they unsquinted right fast. Next, the little ferret takes out a rather poorly embroidered handkerchief and asks me, “Doesn’t this smell nice?”

Next thing I know, we’re pulled up front of a couple of gas pumps in the middle of the desert. It’s not night, and it’s not day. Behind the gas pumps there’s a shack, and behind the shack, a rusty trailer, but other than that, na-da.

We all get out of the car. The air isn’t warm but it’s not cold and it has a taste I remember from back in chemistry class. Over the horizon, a blue light flashes and I hear a moaning sound coming from all directions like a thousand hand vacuums running out of batteries.

Sanduny Sauna Spa (photo by John Barlow)

Sanduny Sauna Spa (photo by John Barlow)

The door of the trailer swings open, left to clap in the wind while a silhouette approaches. In the ghastly headbeams of the car, I see he wears a beard, sunglasses and an XXL athletic jersey that reaches down to his knees. A parcel’s tucked under his arm.

“You Mandy?” he addresses himself to me, “You look stressed. Underappreciated.” He opens the parcel, “You’re a queen, you know that? YOU’RE A QUEEN! About time you be treated like one.”

“What we have here is micromesh body buff, not exactly your typical exfoliator,” he exhibited jars one by one, “This here is for a luminous complexion. Now here we have a seven-step no-peel renewal system that will elmininate visible imperfections and dramatically improve skin tone, texture, and clarity. Main ingredient is argan oil, made from a single tree that grows atop a single mountain in the Isles.”

“Goats climb the trees to eat the berries,” the husky man chimed in, and again received a slap for this trouble. It set my earrings going again and I thought of a great weight loss tip for women who don’t have time to exercise.

One by one they loaded the beauty products into the car, and we were off. The driver turned on the radio, lights danced before my eyes, and next thing I know I’m staring at a chain-link fence protecting haphazard piles of broken furniture covered by snow, and a faded sign in an out-of-date font: THE SANDUNY SPA!

“Time to relax,” the weasel’s bloodshot eyes stared at me intensely and he threw open the sedan door. No sooner had I stepped out than the car peeled away, leaving me with a bag of assorted beauty products hanging from my arm.

The cold wind lashed me fiercely. The entrance to the spa was nearly impossible to find. The fences were locked and there were no directions whatsoever, and when I finally found it, I stood in line for 120 mins only to be eventually directed down a very long hallway to check in. I was a little surprised there was over a mile of walking just to get to the actual spa, but I’m sure they know what they’re doing. They must! Because then I spent another two and a half hours in line for the front desk. Almost there!

There was obviously something wrong with the person working the “front desk” (actually an aluminum table), but Mandy Koch was raised right and made sure to speak very slowly and keep her eyes averted. Across the dented tabletop, a liver-spotted hand slid me a key.

Next thing I knew, I was on my own front steps. My clothes seemed to have been meticulously laundered, but I was wearing two mismatched shoes on my feet, and two more mismatched shoes on my hands. I wasted some time trying to make a pair from the four, coming close only once. Then I gave up and went inside. But don’t worry, I didn’t care about the shoes. What does a woman need shoes for WHEN SHE’S WALKING ON AIR!

Thank you, Sanduny Spa! You’ve made cloud nine. . .  cloud mine.

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