Should You Vouch For Anyone?

Chinese Reflexology Shop. Photo by Doris Lim

It was sometime in the 90s that my colleague and I decided to go the healthy route. Indian vegetarian food instead of lard laden char koay toew (fried flat noodles) for lunch. Reduce  sugar and copious cups of coffee and snacks. Both of us were in our late 20s and it was as good a time as any to start a healthy regime.

For him it was weekend cycling round island. Some 6 hours or so of strenuous biking up the slopes on the south west side of the island and dodging cars on the north east side. Tennis twice weekly. Swimming every Monday and Wednesday and karaoke on the nights that we didn’t exercise. On nights like these, we’ll both have a liquid diet. He will have his beers and I will have my juices, fruit, cakes and supper after we’ve sung ourselves hoarse.

One Thursday afternoon, Dan turned to me and said, “Let’s try foot reflexology” he grinned cheekily, eyes dancing mischievously. I turned up from my detailing and peered over my glasses. “What?”

“It’ll be fun. It’s the Chinese way of healing. Certain points in your feet correspond with certain organs in your body. So by rubbing or massaging these points you’ll be sending positive chi to the affected parts,” Dan explained in earnest as always when he's trying his best to convince me.

“Say, we both know your maths is pretty challenged, right?” I shot him a blood curdling stare which he totally ignored. “So, Dee, how to massage your brain, huh? Open your skull, take it out. Massage, massage and put back, huh?” he quipped, danced around and curtsied. “Look, Dee’s clever now and can recite multiplication table backwards” he mocked, laughing crazily at his own bad joke. Yada.. Yada..

So like a fool, I relented and followed Dan. It has something to do with those dancing eyes. Or that boyish grin. Or whatever. Maybe he was right, I was mentally challenged and easily conned.

After work, we took a short drive to this old shop house in the middle of town. I could pick it out from thirty feet away. The Chinese advertisements notwithstanding. There were two pairs of board cut out of giant feet placed side by side. In the middle, there was a glass door.

I peered inside. There was a row of deck chairs with the customers relaxing, chatting away or reading the Chinese newspaper. At the foot of the deckchairs were little bamboo stools with an elderly man each, sitting there manipulating the customers’ feet. Some used their thumbs, fingers or knuckles. One old gentleman had a wooden pendulum thingy being drilled into the ball of his foot. Yikes!

Dan shoved me into the shop. “It’s okay, Dee. They’re not blind man doing the job, so they won’t accidentally massage beyond your ankles” I rolled my eyes : As if….

Whether it’s blind man’s foot massage or foot reflexology, it only means one thing to me. Excruciating pain.

I flashed a tight weak smile. We waited a while and picked up old out-dated magazines to flip through. One magazine had Chin Han and Lin Ching Hsia on its cover. It was their second movie together, Outside the Window, in 1973.

The shop’s music came from a wired Rediffusion, which was a private radio channel that played mainly Chinese tunes on one channel and English on the other.

A short while later we were ushered onto our deck chairs. We got the side by side chairs with two glasses of piping hot Chinese tea covered with plastic pink and green covers. Hot towel to wipe our face, neck and hands to freshen up. Dan shoved his face towel pass his throat and toward his hairy chest. Eeoooowwww….

Uncle remarked loudly, “Wah your friend has hairy legs.” I thought to myself: Understatement of the century. Dan’s got hairy everything.

First  my Uncle masseur flexed my toes, one by one by pulling it a little. The he bent it back and forth. He started at my big toe, explaining, this corresponds to your head.

Dan laughed out loud, “Yes, Uncle, find her brain, she need a massage there to make her cleverer” he looked to me for translation. I kept quiet. Uncle nodded and worked gently, using his thumb lightly when I told him I have a low tolerance of pain.

Dan didn’t seem to feel any pain, he asked for the wooden thingy to be applied on his feet. Come on, I thought, how macho do you need to be? Once he sliced through the tip of his finger and showed me the flap of skin before the blood oozed out. Sick!

After a while, my feet began to hurt and I tried to inch myself away from uncle’s punishing hands. I had crawled my way up the deck chair by wriggling my behind upwards. Uncle laughed and said that this was a first for him, such a shy customer and promptly pulled me by both my heels towards him.

Dan was having a great time, laughing heartily at my misfortune. His masseur turned to ask me in Hokkien, “Is he your friend?” This is a polite way of asking if Dan’s my BF. I shook my head.

The pain shot stars to my head, my eyes began to water. Face grimacing. He asked again in Hokkien, “Is he your friend?” I kept quiet. Oh get on with it Uncle. Why the twenty questions? Again in Hokkien, “Is he your friend?”

I sighed and said quietly. “He’s my colleague from my office.”

Uncle grinned. “Good to hear that. His Lam Par got problem!” with that I felt all the blood rushed to my face, the flush started at my chest, it grew to my neck and face. My ears burned. I was not crimson. I was fire engine red. Flashing strobe lights!

Dan’s eyes widened. He got very annoyed, “Why are you blushing like that Dee? What did he say about me?”

I went a deeper red and stared at my feet and toes. My poor feet looked totally abused, red and swollen. In fact my feet looked a rather sorry sight. I thought I could just ignore Dan and all that blood would somehow balance out, find its own level or something. Maybe it’s just the blood pounding in my ears. Maybe no one actually said anything.

My Uncle, said in English, “Young man, my sifu says there’s something wrong with your prostate!”

Dan was indignant. Angry even. Livid. “Dee, you tell him now. You make sure he understands that both my prostates are working fine. Vouch for me, girl.”

I buried my face in my hands, and wished for the deck chair to swallow me up.

Doris Lim is a popular freelance writer who blogs as Little Fish on travel and food stories here. Be sure to check out her other inspiring stories and follow her Instagram @SmartDoryID & Facebook to check out more places to eat delicious street foods or dine in the best restaurants!