The Saga of the Relaxation Station in Fostoria

Alright, alla you pre-verts, ne'er-do-wells, and bums having better things to do but aren't doing 'em right now, grab your favorite alcoholic beverage and sit back.  I'm about to relate an important segment of history concerning the ubiquitous oriental massage parlor and associated regulatory law as we heathens in the 21^st century have come to know and revile it.

Now then.
'Way back in the bad old days, when you could buy a full tank of gas for a fin, a pack of smokes set you back 35 cents, and McVomits was hawking sliders for a quarter a piece, a massage parlor opened in Fostoria, Ohio.  It wasn't a big place, but it had all new girls all the time, and was under new management once a month.  It got inspected by the health department every so often, and any violations got taken care of.  You know?  As in, take care of it.  Customers never came up missing any small, valuable personal items, such as a watch, a ring, or a money clip full of c-notes.  There weren't any fights, no drunk and disorderly calls to the local PD, and no noise about white slavery or sex trafficking.  Or anything.  The owner paid her bills on time and contributed (anonymously, of course) to the right charities, and life was good.

Until one fine day...

Well, one fine evening, actually.

One night Mister Goodwind Upright (Windy to his friends at church) was running late, driving back home from a convention someplace in Hell's Half Acre to his home in The Gravel Pit, and around 8:00 PM he got a cramp right between his shoulder blades.  It was an old badminton injury that had returned to plague him, and the longer he drove the worse it got.  He tried adjusting his seat, stretching his arms, but nothing helped.  Then he saw the billboard.

Relaxation Station Oriental Massage

120 E North St, Corner E North and Main

Open 24 Hours 7 Days

By then it was 11:00 PM and old Windy's back was killing him, so a massage was just the thing.

"Yeah, I sure been there before!"

Let's have some quiet in the peanut gallery.  Now then, as I was saying.  Old Windy takes the exit and one way or another, finds the place.  This being Fostoria, the only places that are actually open at that time of night are bars, no-tell motels, and the massage parlor.  So Windy goes in, and while the place is a little, ah..., different, the girls are friendly and it's warm and clean.  The girls are all oriental and don't speak much English, but that's okay.  He wants a massage, he gets shown into a room with a massage table and instructed to get comfortable.  Fifteen minutes later a girl comes in and tells him to take off his clothes.  Windy tries to explain that it's his back that hurts him, but she just smiles and nods, then says, "You take off clo' now.  Then showah', then sauna, then massa-ay'.  You okay?"

"Did he get Loo-sing?"

No, he got... nevermind who he got.  So Windy strips down, takes a shower, and sits in the hot sauna for a few minutes, being very careful to keep his modesty covered at all times as much as possible.  He gets escorted back to his private massage room by an elderly oriental female, and he lies down on the table, face down.  Misty comes in and gets to work on his back, and she does a credible job with the massage.

"How about the flip?"

Shaddup.  After about twenty minutes or so, Misty tells him to turn over, which he does.  Careful with the towel, now!  Misty goes to work on his arms, then gives him a very nice facial massage.  Then she moves down to his chest, and then...

She grabbed his hooter!

Audience: No!

Mad Jack: Yes!

And she had her girls out too!  Then she said, "How much you wanna spen' honey?"

Mad Jack waits for the laughter to subside.

Well!  Mister Goodwind Upright got out of that place in a hurry, let me tell you!  He had never been so shocked and offended in his entire life.  He was truly afraid that he'd caught some sexually transmitted disease -

Crabs, maybe.

Yeah, maybe.  Anyway, he was so shaken that he went straight to the police department, and he told the desk sergeant what had happened.  The sergeant suffered an abrupt paroxysm of coughing, but when he recovered he provided Windy with a report he could fill out.  Windy filled out the report, then called his wife to tell her that he'd be later than expected, and he got in his car and headed for home.

Once the desk sergeant was able to stop laughing, he started telling the uniforms what had happened, and everyone got a big laugh out of it.  And that would have been that, except for one thing.

This idiot made a complaint to the Mayor's office and the local bird cage liner got hold of it.  Clearly, something had to be done.

So Mayor Fastbucks called Chief Lardbucket and explained the situation, using single syllable words and telling the Chief to shut it down.  The Chief got hold of the Lieutenant, and the Lieutenant spilled the stable dressing all over the Sergeant's desk, and the Sergeant asked for volunteers to go undercover to get evidence on the Relaxation Station.

Yeah, volunteers, right?  Evidence, right?  The department ended up putting all the names into a hat and drawing one, then they drew two more to get the boys to settle down a little.  The idea was to charge 'em with solicitation, procurement, and anything else that would stick.  Now remember, Fostoria is a small town, so everyone tends to know everyone else.  The last guy they sent in to get relaxed had to go three times before he could gain evidence that something other than a therapeutic massage was being offered at the Relaxation Station.  No, I'm not kidding.  Three times, or so the police undercover officer swore under oath.  But evidence was finally gathered and the cops closed the place down.

Then the paper got hold of the story and printed it.  I think it's still in the Toledo Blade archives, but I haven't checked.  The government was shocked, shocked I tell you!, that such an amoral establishment of ill repute had been operating as a front for prostitution for over five years.  Or ten years, or maybe closer to twenty years.  But they were still shocked, and grateful to what's-his-name for filing a complaint.  Strange that no one else complained during all those years, but I guess there's no accounting for basic human nature and Keynesian theory and all that.

The case went to trial and the accused owners, a certain Su Lee Hot and Wong Dong Po, cut a deal with the local persecutor.  They'd stop with the extra personal services if he'd reduce the charges to something meaningful, which he did.  I think it was operating an adult entertainment establishment without a license.  There was a fine but no jail time, and the verdict specified all new girls.

Which, as it turned out, was okay with everybody.

So what about the Relaxation Station today?  I couldn't tell you for sure, but there aren't any complaints about the place.  No drunks, no drugs, no fights, no cop calls in the middle of the night for noise or domestics or anything.  None of the customers have complained either.

If you really want to know the low down, go find out for yourself.  It's still a clean, safe establishment.

Or so I'm told.  Here's how!