I don’t like needles. Never have, never will. My fear of needles kept me out of the medical profession, dashed my hopes of transforming the fashion industry, and thankfully, rendered the idea of intravenous drug use an immediate non-starter. I fear needles so much that I once tried to bribe a nurse, with cash, to skip a Tetanus shot. I was eight or nine, so the bribe was likely a $2 bill my Zayde gave me for finding the Afikomen at Passover. Point is, I’m willing to pay real money to avoid needles, which is why paying real money for a man to stick needles in my back was something I didn’t have on my Life Bingo Card.

But as I wrote in a previous post, I’ve been suffering with a bad back. The chiropractor provided some limited relief and a woman in the lobby added some comic relief, but the bad back persisted. A Thai massage helped a little, but when it was over the masseuse said, “Your back is screwed six ways to Sunday.” Her assessment was a profound understatement.

When I told my sister, Allison, about the situation with my back, she made a bold suggestion: acupuncture.

“I know you hate needles, but honestly, when there’s something nobody else can fix, I say it’s time to try acupuncture.”

“OK, I’ll try it.”

“Really?”

Allison sounded surprised. One thing she learned early in life is that I can be a stubborn fucker. But I was in agony and my bad back had put life on hold. In short, I was desperate. If my sister had suggested smearing my body with Marshmallow Fluff and asking Gozer the Gozerian to send me to the nearest convenient parallel dimension, I would’ve done it.

I found an acupuncturist on Yelp. He had several hundred reviews and an average rating of 4.7 stars. Is that a good way to find an acupuncturist? I do not know. But Yelp is how I found a solid mechanic, a banging Chinese dumpling house, and my yoga studio.

I phoned Doctor Lu’s office. I was expecting a receptionist, but Doctor Lu answered. He spoke in a halting voice with a thick Chinese accent. I told him about my back.

“You come tomorrow. One o’clock.”

If that sounded like an order, I believe it was, because he didn’t ask if that time worked for me. Then again, the bad back had put everything on hold, so my schedule was open.

At precisely one o’clock, I arrived at Doctor Lu’s office. The lobby was small with just enough room for three chairs and side table that didn’t have any magazines. There was a rectangular window cut into the far wall, and just behind that I could see a receptionist’s desk, but no receptionist.

“Wait,” a distant, unseen voice called out.

I waited.

A few minutes later, Doctor Lu poked his head through the receptionist window.

“Forms.”

He handed me a clipboard. I filled out the forms — all standard medical questions. When I was done, Doctor Lu led me to an exam room.

“It’s just you here?” I asked. “Solo operation.”

“Yes, just me. I do bookkeeping, scheduling, answering phones — all very simple.”

The exam was straightforward. I told Doctor Lu where it hurt. He walked me through a series of simple movements. As I moved, I winced and groaned. It was mildly painful to me, but apparently fascinating to Doctor Lu, who matched my movements with murmurs and contemplative sounds.

“Back.”

That was my cue to get on the table, face up. Immediately, Doctor Lu went straight for my neck, probing the muscles and tendons with his fingers.

“Like I choke you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I gasped, feeling a little like that poor bastard at the beginning of Star Wars.

As it turned out, choking was the appetizer. After picking his spots, Doctor Lu brought out the needles and came at me like I was a damn voodoo doll.

At first it hurt in the way it hurts when the dentist jabs the back of your jaw with a novocaine needle. Briefly, I thought was going to die. Then I just felt uncomfortable.

“Relax,” Doctor Lu ordered.

Doctor Lu switched off the lights, told me to take a nap, and left the room. I didn’t nap, and I absolutely didn’t move. But eventually, I relaxed, and I started to feel better.

After about ten minutes Doctor Lu returned, removed the needles from my neck, then told me to roll over onto my stomach. This time, there wasn’t any choking, but to make up for that Doctor Lu used three times as many needles. Also, he hooked those needles up to a machine that sent tiny pulses of electric current into my muscles.

“Hurt?”

“No, it just feels kinda weird.”

For some reason, that made Doctor Lu laugh, and for an entirely different reason, making him laugh made me feel good. Once again, Doctor Lu told me to nap, switched off the lights, and left the room.

About fifteen minutes later, the machine sending electric currents to my muscles beeped, then chirped, then it played a sing-song electronic jingle that sounded like one of those toys that are engineered to drive parents bonkers. Doctor Lu returned, turned off the machine, and removed the needles from my back.

“Stand.”

I stood.

“How you feel?”

“Good. Better. I feel like myself again.”

Doctor Lu smiled.

“Simple case. Come back — two days.”

“That’s it?”

“No.”

I knew there was a catch. With few words and a lot of pantomime, Doctor Lu explained that I had been holding my body in an awkward, hunched-over pose for so long that my mid-back injury had compounded the tension all the way up to my neck and shoulders.

“Move.”

I moved gingerly, like an old man who had spent twenty-four hours crammed into a budget airline’s middle seat between two manspreading Sumo wrestlers.

“No. Move with confidence.”

Doctor Lu demonstrated. Then it was my turn.

“Better. Remember — always confidence in your body.”

That night I felt better with each passing hour. I’d say things to Christina like, “Wow, Doctor Lu is a damn legend” and “My acupuncturist fucks.” I considered getting t-shirts made in Doctor Lu’s honor, or possibly running for president (and winning) just so I could appoint him Secretary of Health and Human Services.

The next day, I felt even better, but I also felt sore where Doctor Lu had put the needles. It was as if he had drilled a narrow hole through my muscles, past my soul, and out the other side. The sore spots hurt, but it was the kind of hurt that comes with healing.

A few days later, I went back for my final visit. It was basically the same, only there were fewer needles in my neck and more in my back. At the end, Doctor Lu hit me with the same message.

“Remember — always confidence in your body.”

I liked that message. It got to the core of the malfunction in my core. The initial muscle injury was serious, but the subsequent erosion of confidence in my body was what had done me so dirty. I felt confident in my body again. Confidence in everything else — my life, my next novel, my country, humanity, etc. — is a different story, and I’m not there are enough needles in the world to fix that.

Situation Normal is free, but a handful of situation normies pay so I can keep my Substack bestseller badge, which is in fact, our bestseller badge. Big shout outs to Emily and ! Thank you both for supporting Situation Normal & being awesome! Be on the lookout for good vibes headed your way.

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The story of the Munch Box, a legendary Chatsworth burger joint with a terrible name and a diabolical former patron, is still a go. Reporting, however, has been delayed due to back issues (see above) and the ongoing occupation of Los Angeles by the U.S. military (see last week). Long story short: The next installment of absurdist journalism will run next Sunday (hopefully).

Big thank you to the situation normies who have purchased & read my novel, Not Safe for Work. I love hearing from you, whether you leave a review, or drop me a line. And if you haven’t bought the bought, you should! Because if you love Situation Normal, there’s an 11 in 10 chance you’ll laugh your butt off reading my slacker noir set in the porn industry at the dawn of Web 2.0.

Not Safe for Work is available at Amazon and all the other book places.

*The ebook is .99, so you can’t go too far wrong. Just sayin’.

Why does Darth Vader choke that rebel scum with his gloved hands? Was there a malfunction in the Force that day?

Are you afraid of needles? Tell your story.

Has Yelp ever led you astray? Details.

Have you tried acupuncture, or are you Team Just Say No To All Those Damn Needles?

What’s on your Life Bingo Card?

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