A while ago I tweaked my back and it’s been giving me problems on and off since. For a while I had been going to a chiropractor but felt that wasn’t doing very much good. The problem seemed to be more muscular than spine or alignment.

After much consideration and research, and on the recommendation of my regular doctor, I decided to try a physical/massage therapist. Luckily it was covered my employer’s insurance so I thought what the hell. I was in a lot of pain and was willing to try anything.

My first meeting with Sharon Tracy was telling. Her office was in a brownstone, which isn’t unusual in Brooklyn. She was kind of spacey and out of it. Just a little flighty although I couldn’t really put my finger on it. I took it for New Age-y flakiness and let it slide. She seemed nice enough even if she was a bit quirky.

You had to take your shoes off before you entered even the lobby of her office. I showed up around fifteen minutes before my appointment and ended up having to wait outside on the stoop of the brownstone because no one was there to let me in. I assumed, like a normal doctor’s appointment, you show up a little early and wait. She told me, “oh, I forgot to tell you never to show up early for your appointment, just get here right on time”. Ok, odd, but ok. She spent the first twenty minutes of our first session freaking out about how she couldn’t get her e-mail to work, to the point that I took ten minutes and setup Outlook for her.

That was my first encounter, quirkiness and all, but I’m still in it to win it. I’m in pain and I want it to stop. I’m willing to put up with whatever mojo she’s got going.

For our second appointment, I show up right on time, and oops, she’s double booked. I reschedule and leave.

For our third appointment she’s about ten minutes late, no big deal I wait and we have the normal session. I should mention that through all of these sessions, we had conversations. She talked incessantly during the session, which was quite annoying, but which I never said anything about. We were on good terms. I never showed frustration or even gave the air that I was bothered by her eccentricities.

After the third session, I asked if we should do the appointment the same time next week. She recommended I start coming twice a week so we made two appointments. One for Tuesday and one for Thursday.

As part of the session, there is a massage, so when I get undressed, as a habit I would take off my watch and lay it on a mantle next to where my clothes were.

Now here’s where it gets interesting. After my third visit, and after she suggests we make two appointments for the next week, I leave. I was literally not completely out to the sidewalk when I realized I had left my watch inside on the mantle. I turned around and buzzed to get back in. Nothing. No answer. We’re talking 30 maybe 45 seconds tops since I walked out the door. Buzz again. Nothing. Still no answer.

While I thought it was odd, and a little frustrating that she wasn’t answering, I wasn’t worried. I would just get the watch at my next appointment.

So I show up on Tuesday for my appointment, right at 11 as commanded. Buzz. No answer. Buzz again, no answer. Ok, fine. She’s running late again. I’ll just sit on the stoop…again. 15 minutes passes. Buzz. No answer. 30 minutes passes. Buzz. Nothing. 45 minutes, still no answer, so fuck it, I leave.

I get home and call her, and get her machine. I’m still polite, even going so far as to say that I may have mixed up the appointment time, but if she could just call me back to let me know that we’re still on for Thursday. I get no call back. I call her again on Wednesday, “hey, just wanted to make sure we were still on for tomorrow, I know we missed each other Tuesday. Give me a call.” No call, no nothing.

Thursday, I show up for my appointment, again, no one is there. I wait, and wait. And wait. No one is there. Now I’m pissed. I call again. Again, I get her machine. “Ok look, I’m not sure what’s going on, but obviously you’re busy and our appointments aren’t working out, but like I’ve said, I left my watch there. Just call me back and let me know when I can come and pick that up. Call me anytime”. Again, nothing.

I call everyday, sometimes twice a day, for the next two weeks. “Please, that watch was a gift, I just want to pick it up, anytime you want to call is fine, but this is getting ridiculous, just give me back my watch.” Zip. Never hear from her again.

I still call occasionally, her machine still picks up. I still leave a message. I still get no response.

So, just in case you’re ever in need of a physical therapist in Park Slope, you may want to avoid Sharon Tracy. On second thought, don’t avoid her. Go to her, and if you see my watch, take it and run.

Give me back my watch you crazy biatch!