Doug Clark: Float pod soaked my stress away, but did nothing for my deadline

Tuesday afternoon found me seeking inner peace and tranquility in a North Side strip mall, a Frisbee toss from a Red Lobster franchise.

I naturally would have preferred a one-on-one with the Dalai Lama himself. Although getting to Tibet appears so exhausting and arduous that the logistics, I fear, would defeat the purpose.

So I went for the easier enlightenment option and bought a $50 “first-time” soak in a deprivation tank at Float Spokane, 4727 N. Division St.

Thousands of residents, I’d wager, have driven past that mysterious “Float” sign and swirling blue graphics and wondered …

“What the heck’s going on in there?”

Well, wonder no more.

Float Spokane customers pay for the privilege of relaxing inside a “Dreampod,” which looks like something you’d use to escape from a doomed spaceship in a Star Trek movie.

These egg-shaped white cocoons, however, are filled with a foot or so of water that is heated to soothing body temperature.

The water is so heavily infused with Epsom salts (1,100 pounds per pod) that the user literally floats like a fishing bobber.

Climb in. Shut the lid. Turn off the interior lighting. After 10 minutes, the soft Zamfir-like pan flute music stops. The floater is now free to zone out in the dark silence, troubles melting away like a Godiva chocolate in a warm pocket.

Or as the Float Spokane website says:

“Imagine floating in a zero gravity environment without any distractions. No unwanted noise. No demanding bosses telling you what to do. No expectations or deadlines looming over you.”

As I discovered, however, being able to fully enjoy the Dreampod experience probably takes more than a single float.

Or maybe I was simply too wired to shut it all down.

The more I tried to veg out the more my gerbil brain kept racing on its cerebral exercise wheel, fretting about demanding bosses, looming deadlines and the personal hygiene of whoever used the Dreampod before me.

That last concern is totally unwarranted, explained Jennifer Riggan, who owns Float Spokane and a similar outlet in Liberty Lake with her husband, Jerrod.

This is because the water filters repeatedly between floaters. (Spokane, by the way, also has another float enterprise in Kendall Yards that is not owned by Jennifer and Jerrod.)

And filtering aside, not even the hardiest germ could survive in water that is 25 percent saltier than the Dead Sea.

After checking into the front desk for my 3 p.m. float appointment, receptionist Ashley Garrett handed me a form to fill out.

Along with the usual contact information, I had to assure Float Spokane that “in the past two weeks, I have not had any communicable or infectious disease, illness, or skin disorder” and that “I am not currently menstruating.”

When I finished, Garrett led me to a comfortable room where I watched a short flotation tutorial.

Then it was on to my private room that housed the Dreampod I would be using. After a shower to wash off any excess body oils, that is.

I inserted a pair of waxy earplugs into the correct orifices. “Open the pod bay doors, HAL,” I announced, despite the fact that no one was present to appreciate my hilarity.

Then I entered the Dreampod and began my float.

“Ooohhhhmm … ”

I tried chanting the above mantra, but without success. Next time I’ll use a more meaningful mantra, like, “Dip Cooooone. Dip Coooone.”

So I floated in the darkness, listening to my heart thump and telling myself not to hit the red panic button on the left side of the pod.

There was no real chance of hitting it, of course. But the mind can play strange tricks on a person when he’s floating naked in a pod of strangeness.

What if I did hit the button?

I could just see a rescue crew, barging through the door to reel me out of the water like a beluga whale.

RESCUE WORKER 1 – “Too heavy. Hand me the elephant hook.”

RESCUE WORKER 2 – “Don’t have one. Remember? The City Council outlawed ’em.”

Floating is a nice, dreamy sensation. And the warm, magnesium-laced saltwater is supposedly good for a host of ailments.

Jennifer cited a teenager who credited floating with helping her arthritis pain.

Another floater, a veteran, claimed it helped his PTSD.

“You get benefits you don’t even realize,” she said, adding that positive anecdotes are commonplace.

Jennifer’s husband, for example, suffers from severe migraines. Hearing about the benefits of floating, Jennifer said he went to an outlet in Kirkland and gave it a try.

It helped him so much, she added, that they decided to get into the float business.

About 55 minutes into my hour, the music returned as my wake-up call.

I opened the pod bay door all on my own and exited this faux womb to shower the salt off and get dressed.

I’ll admit it. I did feel more refreshed than when I went in. I give floating two soggy thumbs up.

And, hey, Valentine’s Day is coming.

A certificate for a float would be an out-of-the-chocolate-box gift for your sweetie.

Unless your sweetie’s been diagnosed as claustrophobic, that is. In that case, I’d stick with roses.