by Paola Bassanese
The term “craptastic” was coined on 26th August 2011 by Allissa Haines, twitter: @bluestreakblog (she’s an expert on unicorns according to Klout, don’t you know?), whose day job is to be a “Shameless Agitator, Massage Therapist, Writer & Frequent Snacker”.
“Craptastic” describes a situation that is so bad it’s hilarious, a comedy of errors where anything that could possibly go wrong, inevitably goes wrong.
So here’s my fabulously craptastic day in diary form.
26th August 2011.
4am: wake up 3 hours before the alarm in a panic because I don’t want to be late for my first appointment at 9am (new massage client, must make a good impression).
8.06am: just miss the train which would have got me to work early leaving me enough time to stop for a coffee. I’m caffeine deprived.
8.10am: epiphany! I left my mobile credit card terminal at home. I need my credit card machine because most clients don’t carry cash and pay by card. I go back home and miss the other good train which would have taken me to work on time.
8.24am: finally on the train, this one will only arrive to the destination 5 minutes before my first appointment which means I only have one minute to get ready before my first client arrives. Therefore no caffeine fix. My body and brain are in mourning.
9am: the planned start of my first appointment with brand new massage client, must make good impression. Client and I wait outside the clinic, which is still locked, no lights on. We decide to go for a coffee. I buy the coffee. I buy the bacon sandwich to go with my coffee because I’m starving, having had breakfast at 6am and without coffee.
9.45am: new start time of first massage appointment of the day after the clinic has been opened by a flustered receptionist whose train was stuck for ages somewhere nowhere near London.
10.45am: end of first massage appointment. Client pays by card. I have my credit card machine. Result. Maybe the craptastic cloud has lifted.
11am: time for my second massage appointment. New client, no show. Credit card machine is in mourning.
12pm: get to Pret a Manger to have lunch before starting the afternoon shift at another clinic. I have a long afternoon ahead with back to back massage appointments. There’s no seats available at the restaurant so I end up sharing a table with an elderly Norwegian man who buys me coffee. Possibly another non-craptastic event in the whole day, but there’s no such thing as a free coffee as I listen, traumatised, to his dramatic life story.
1pm: at my second clinic. Norwegian man from before walks in – awkward moment as I didn’t tell him where I worked and he didn’t follow me. He asks for some information (he’s looking for a barber – we are all women at reception) and leaves.
1.15pm: first massage appointment of the afternoon cancelled.
3.15pm: third massage appointment of the afternoon cancelled.
5.15pm: fifth massage appointment of the afternoon cancelled.
5.30pm: thunderstorm. I get soaked walking from the clinic to the tube station.
6.30pm: thunderstorm. I get soaked walking from my local train station home.
6.40pm: me, inside. Outside: sun is shining. THE END.