The Ritz of Schvitz: Part II

Let me begin by saying that, through unconfirmed but pretty reliable sources,  I’ve heard  The Concierge has been fired. No word on Shamu.

Now, back to the story….

For the past two weeks Richard has arrived at The Ritz every other day at 6:00 AM. He said the best part of working out there is that when he’s finished his trainer stretches him out on a massage table and then places a cool eucalyptus-scented cloth on his head. This was not helping me fall in love with The Club. I’m used to smelly gyms, rosin-scented backstage wings, and the smell of greasepaint and anxiety. Having a cool eucalyptus-scented cloth placed on my head was not part of  any repertoire I’d ever experienced in a gym or as a -very- reluctant- to- perform-on-stage dancer.

I still hadn’t been to The Club because I wasn’t supposed to do exercises other than those assigned to me. I wanted to follow the recommendations of the physical therapists I was seeing because I’d rather nip this thing in the butt, I mean bud, so it actually healed and got stronger. I am seeing several physical therapists since the first one I met missed the avocado pit with a Ginsu knife and sliced through the tendon in her hand, instead, and is currently receiving physical therapy.

But, then the flood arrived. We couldn’t use our plumbing for a few days because the sewer line in front of our house was clogged.* Richard instructed us to only flush on an as-needed basis. His rule was, “If it’s clear, leave it there”.The lake in our backyard after the Flood.

The lake in our backyard after The Flood.

I wasn’t leaving anything anywhere; and I really wanted to take a shower. I could have gone to my mother’s house, or to one of my friends who kindly offered me their showers. But then it dawned on me: I am a member of  The Club. I decided that if I couldn’t use the gym facilities I would use the amenities. Besides, it would be a good way for me to test the waters.

Can we talk about the water for a moment? I had decided to venture into the steam room but a shower was required before entering. The shower sprinkled down on me gently, yet firmly, and was heated to perfection. After the first shower, I was actually looking forward to the one I would take after I took a steam.

I entered the empty steam room and was greeted by wisps of eucalyptus-scented moisture. I sat down, still wrapped in a towel, because I have yet to feel comfortable naked just about anywhere, and inhaled through my stuffed nose. My sinuses immediately opened up and let the steam flow into my body. I sat there contemplating the meaning of life until I was beginning to feel like over-microwaved broccoli. I stepped out of the steam room and tip-toed to one of the showers. I could have just walked there, but something about this place invited tip-toeing.

Since I had recently had my hair Keratined, I brought my own shampoo and conditioner because it’s the law after having a Keratin relaxing treatment that you may only use special shampoo and conditioner. But I had neglected to bring shower gel. There was no way I was going to use the Kiehl’s shower gel that was provided.

I reluctantly pumped a small amount of the Kiehl’s grapefruit-scented shower gel into my hands and rubbed it into a lovely, frothy lather. I pumped a little more, only because I wanted to make sure I was squeaky clean; I mean who knew when we’d be able to use our showers at home again, if ever?

By the time I had pumped and lathered, I looked like a rabid dog. I couldn’t get enough of that stuff. It smelled like someone was peeling freshly picked grapefruit just outside the shower door and I felt exhilarated and alive.

I still wanted to hate The Club, but was having trouble finding anything to hate, or even dislike, for that matter, because I had finally let go of “the incident” with Shamu, that sweat-drenched neanderthal-woman.

After I used as many full-sized warm towels as I pleased, I realized I hadn’t brought body lotion. There were bottles of Kiehl’s body lotion-potion visible out of every corner of my eye for members to use. I thought I wouldn’t like using it because I normally just pour Avon Skin-so-Soft bath oil down my back and hope it lands where my body needs it  after a shower. But the Kiehl’s lotion-potion was light, and refreshingly not gooey. I even used it on my face because I had neglected to pack face cream. It absorbed into my skin without leaving a trace of stickiness, leaving my face ready for make-up. I liked the Kiehl’s stuff, but I rationalized to myself that it was okay to like it because it was available at fine stores everywhere. It didn’t mean I liked the club.

I got dressed and then sat down at one of the many vanities, each equipped with salon-quality blow dryers with assorted nozzles, Q-tips, cotton balls, and an adjustable make-up mirror with lighting available for “day”, “office”, and “evening” settings.

I applied my make-up using the “day” setting, and then dried my hair. I didn’t want to admit it, but this place was beginning to grow on me.

A few days later I received permission from my physical therapist du jour to walk in a pool. Oh, happy day! I packed up my bag with one of my new, super-cute bathing suits, and headed to The Ritz. I had been instructed not to break out into an actual swim, but was told to walk in a manner that can only be described as something out of Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks, taking giant overly animated backward steps like a drunken stork.

As I was gliding through the water backwards I couldn’t help but notice that the water in the pool was different than any water in any other pool I’d ever been in before. It rippled. It didn’t splash. It seemed heavier, and smoother, and easier to frolic in without pesky droplets hitting my eyeballs. What was with the water in this place? Had it been anointed in some way by Poseidon?

After exiting the pool I took a quick, perfectly heated shower that cascaded gently, yet firmly upon my shoulders and then headed into the luciously-scented steam room. After I had been broccolied until I was al dente, I took another shower, looking forward to the smell of an orchard of freshly sprouted grapefruit trees wafting all around.

As I moisturized, dried my hair, and put on my make-up, I noticed in my reflection from the mirror that I was actually smiling. Was I happy to be there? Was I succumbing? Was I becoming one of “them”? Hell, yeah.

I know deep down inside that Richard is usually right about things. He does his homework; he gets the research done. He knew this would be the place for us and he was right, damn it.

I went back to my locker to get my purse and workout bag, but when I tried to take my sweater out I realized it was caught on the hinge on the bottom of the locker door. I dug my reading glasses out from the bottom of my purse, got down on the floor and tried to figure out how to release one of my favorite Eileen Fisher sweaters without ripping it.

I felt the presence of  a woman watching me from across the locker room, but stayed focused on the task at hand. After a few minutes of wrestling with my delicate sweater, I sensed that the very toned woman with six-pack abs who had stripped down to her bra and panties was still watching me, so I looked up at her.

She asked, “Do you work here?”


“No,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought you were repairing the locker.”

“No,” I said, “I’m just trying to get my Eileen Fisher sweater unhooked without tearing it.”

“Oh. Ok,” she said, as she headed toward the grapefruit-scented showers.

I managed to get my sweater out with only a minor tear that even I will be able to sew. I picked up the rest of my things and left. As I walked out to my car I wondered why “old six-pack” thought I worked there, not that there’s anything wrong with it. I was wearing a beautiful camisole and jeans, and had full make-up and hair going on as I crouched on the ground, being careful to not anger my hammy, while trying to gently extricate my sweater.

It was a strange question. If I saw someone in that position I wouldn’t assume anything, nor would I care, unless that person needed help. “Maybe she thought I needed help,” I told myself. But I knew the truth. She thought I was the help. I hate that club. But I can’t wait to take another swim, steam and shower, and get on the Pilates Reformer with a trainer watching my every move and then draping a cool eucalyptus-scented towel across my forehead.

And now for something completely different…

* Coincidentally, that happened again the other day. Please see

2 thoughts on “The Ritz of Schvitz: Part II

  1. Oh, so very hard to get the positive/negative vibes to align….and I totally understand your feelings on this. I’ve always felt there is absolutely no excuse NOT to pamper yourself with a little luxury, and I LOVE a good shower. Then again, arrogance and entitled attitudes/actions of others gets on my nerves. You have a moral dilemma of sorts, but I think the lotions and lights and showers and gels and warm towels may win out. Listen to Richard, he seems to have found a winner.

    • I agree! I really do need to listen to him more often. Now that I’ve decided to write full-time, he’s going to be my business manager. He had me write a “who am I” statement and a mission statement. It’s very foreign to me, but I want to do this and he’s the best at it. Next I have to set goals, or something like that, and write an action plan. Thanks for your great response!
      Take care!

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