I see an object, roughly the size of a car, with a very strange shape. It has a door that opens onto an interior that looks like a cockpit, with flashing colored lights and screens I have no idea how to read. There’s glass protecting the inside, and everything looks futuristic. The whole machine is shiny and silver, with metallic details and smooth lines that somehow make it look pretty cool. There are also buttons and knobs. I stay silent for a few seconds.

“Sorry, but what the hell is this?”

“It’s part of my job. People use it to feel better, to stay in shape.”

That machine, which really does look like a spaceship, turns out to be an Infraslim device, used to improve circulation, tone the body and help with weight loss through vibrations and infrared technology.

Okay, I’m still confused, so I ask, “Oh yeah? And how does it work?”

And here’s how she explains it: “You see the door? It opens, you get inside, but you have to be either naked or in your underwear. Then I strap a belt around you, close the door, your legs stay locked inside while your chest and arms remain outside, and you’re kind of semi-lying down. Then this tube goes in your nose, and you have to breathe from there because oxygen comes out of it. Once you’re ‘intubated,’ your legs, which are inside, go on these pedals, and you have to start cycling. Inside, the machine heats up like a sauna and the air gets sucked out.” She pauses and then asks, “So, do you want to try it?”

Now, any sane person would say, “Very interesting, but I’m good, thanks.”

I, who is clearly not sane, reply with a solid “Why not?” and pull down my trousers.

I climb into the spaceship. She straps me in, closes the door. I’m sealed in here. She hands me the little tube to put in my nose. I’m scared to breathe this stuff. Anita says, “Riccardo, it’s oxygen! Relax, I won’t make you fall asleep, and I won’t kill you.” Alright, let’s try to trust her. I stick the two ends into my nostrils. Cold air comes out. Then she turns on the monitor and blasts music at full volume.

Before leaving the room, she shouts in my ears, “Start pedalling, see you in half an hour!”

Anita leaves. I’m alone in here.

For the first few minutes, I keep asking myself what the fuck I’m doing. Having the GPS on won’t save me from decapitation. At any moment, I expect a group of people to burst in, beat me with sticks and chop off my head and arms to the rhythm of the music. But I’m sealed in here anyway, so I might as well pedal. My legs start sweating, and I feel the air being sucked out, it’s weird. The monitor shows calories burned, distance covered and all that bullshit. I spend one of the strangest half hours of my life like this.

Then Anita comes back, alone, and without a machete in her hand. What a relief.

“How was it?”
“I’m still alive, so good.”
“Nice, right? Now do you want a manicure?”