So you walk in and they greet you with soft, white spa robes and hot tea. Nice. Ah, but don't be fooled. It's a ruse, done to lull you into thinking that the procedure you are about to endure will be pleasant. It is not. Once in the room, a petite, smiling but serious woman with cold hands manipulates your exposed breast into a vice and applies 25 pounds of pressure. Now, 25 pounds may not sound like much, but trust me, it leaves a mark. There's gotta be a better way. That was the morning's fun on Friday. In the after noon, I was poked, prodded and probed elsewhere on (or should I say in) my person, which made for the perfect, shitty day. This all happened in the lovely city of Honolulu. Now, Waikiki is nice, with fancy shopping and swanky hotels. But deviate from that strip one iota and you will witness the sordid underbelly of the service industry. Hey, the regular people have to live somewhere. For all it's azure blue ocean, balmy climate and swayi...