A few days later, Poirier says to me, "I was reading ba.food the other day and saw a thread on the best spas in San Francisco, and I thought that might be a fun thing for me to do on my birthday, or when I'm done with my exam." ba.food, you suck.
I signed up for two Serenity packages; each includes a facial, body wrap, and 50-minute massage. But after browsing their web-brochure, I realized that the cost of the package was greater than the sum of each service individually. I called back and was informed of the difference: the package includes tip. Er, okay. I hung up. I did some math. Said math revealed the percentage of forced tip to be 21%. I decided against calling back, fearing that requesting a change might result in an increase in hostility and a decrease in service quality.
I won't go into detail about the facilities--you can read and see all about them on their web site--suffice to say, they're nice. Though I expected a more sprawling and spacious pool area. And their Q-tips suck. C'mon, people, there's no substitute for the trusted Q-tip brand! Also, their bathroom scale reported my weight as 3 pounds less than what was reported by the Official Hallway Scale On The Second Floor of the Stanford Psychiatry Building. No doubt to induce relaxation via ego-buttering.
After signing in, I lay around in the steam room for a bit, then donned the robe-uniform and went to lounge by the pool with all the other spa-goers, which felt part Risa and part sanitarium. (Risa is a planet of paradise, as seen on ST:TNG. Or so I've heard. I mean, overheard at a bus stop, or something, not from anyone I actually know. In fact, I have no idea what ST:TNG stands for.)
We were told to remain poolside, and that someone would fetch us when it was time for our appointments. If this sounds inefficient, it is: staff members went from person to person asking, "Are you so-and-so?" So, if you someday find yourself at NHS, avoid the chairs close to the door, as you might be asked a half-dozen times in the course of five minutes if you are so-and-so, as Poirier was. Or, someone might come up to you and say, "Taylor, for one-o-clock?" Then you would say, "'Tyler.'" Then dude would say to you, "I'm Alexander, right this way." Then Alexander would lead you to a room that contains what looks like a massage table. You might tell Alexander that you thought you had a facial at one, that your massage was scheduled for three. Alexander would then say, "Well, I have you down for one. Why don't you go ahead and get ready, and I'll check the computer." A little while later Alexander might come back and say that he couldn't find anything in the computer, but that he was sure that it would all be worked out, so let's get started. Alexander would then provide a superficial massage that pales to the ones you get from your girlfriend. Once finished, he'd go check the computer again, be gone for a few minutes, then rap loudly on the door to jolt you out of your stupor. Then he'd stand over you and declare that there's no evidence of your having ever booked the Serenity package, in a manner that indicates his mind is made up on the subject of who's responsible for this fuck-up. At this point, it might seem like a good idea to point out that you have a receipt. Go ahead and do so. Alexander would then attempt to confirm that you really are "Tanden Rashinki." When you confess that you, unfortunately, are not, Alexander would say, "Well, there's the problem. You see, that's why I asked you if you were Tanden, because that's who my appointment was for." You could say, "And that's why I corrected you by telling you my name" but it won't matter, because he's going to tell you, "Well, I've got someone coming in here soon, so why don't you get it together and move on out of here." If you are a pussy like me, you should comply, and not, I repeat, NOT vandalize Alexander's belongings in some scatological manner.
Aside from Alexander, the staff seemed genuinely apologetic and concerned for my satisfaction, and the facial and body wrap appointments were rescheduled with little fanfare. One of the staff members made the extra step of sucking up, expressing surprise that that day's facial would be my first..."your skin looks so good!" I refrained from disclosing my daily Kamel Red Light Inhalation treatment. A girl's got to keep her beauty secrets, you know.
The body wrap was pretty nice, and included a short finishing massage that was superior to Alexander's. The facial was also very cool, except for the clinician trying to sell me skin products, and saying she would have the gift shop upstairs add them to my bill. (This turned out to not be the case, so I guess I misheard. Perhaps a habit I picked up that day. I blame the fraudulent Q-tips.)
I'm glad for the experience, but by the end of the afternoon I was still tilted. That might have had more to do with the punishment my car endured trying (and failing) to climb a hill from a standstill, or perhaps being charged $25 for parking by the megadicks at Crocker Garage.
| Bread with Butter | +5 | |
| Amuse Geule: Cabbage Clam Soup | +4 | |
| Lobster Tempura with Citrus Endive Salad | +8 |
| Bacon-Wrapped Dayboat Scallop with Morel Vinaigrette, Potato Ravioli | +7 |
| Steamed John Dory with Assorted Spring Onions, Tomato Beurre Blanc | +7 |
| Medallions of Ahi Tuna with Seared Hudson Valley Foie Gras, Pinot Noir Sauce, Potato Cake | +8 |
| Butterscotch Pot de Creme with Cinnamon Sugar Beignets, Tahitian Vanilla Cream | +4 |
| Mignardises | +4 |
| Wine Pairings | +8 | |
| Staff | +7 |
| Eavesdropping | +3 |
The show closes with a fierce proclamation of self-acceptance, met, of course, with cheers and applause. But she still comes across as someone who tries too hard, craves approval and isn't entirely comfortable with herself.
Summary: Eat at Aqua. Get the chef's menu and wine pairings. Go with a small group, request a dessert assortment for the table. Cry if you have to. Don't skip the root beer float.