This massage therapist thinks she is organized. She thinks
she has a good grip on where things are and handy when needed.
Ho, Ho, Ho,
delusional again.
Moving is a drag under the best circumstances. This circumstance was a Wednesday. I had clients on the book. Ho, Ho, Ho. Mistake again.
At least it wasn’t too hard to get the table up and find bins with sheets in them. I had the oil sitting in the front seat of my car, on top of my schedule book.
The clock was
in one of the bins marked “Mom’s Dolls,” so I used my cell phone to track the
time. In the middle of a massage, it started vibrating with an incoming call.
I could not
find any of the aromatherapies either, so I took my plain oil and ventured
forward. The fellows had to unpack the rest of the truck without me while I was
in session, so I came out of the therapy room to a nice huge pile of boxes and
stuff.
Pier One
Imports had room dividers on sale. Eureka. I hid half the pile behind the
divider and got back to work. Then I noticed there were two sheets of toilet
paper left in the bathroom. Off to the market.
My phone kept
buzzing. Everyone wanted appointments. I wanted to lie down.
At the
hardware store later that day, I found a nice shower curtain to cover the rest
of the pile. The clock was still in the pile somewhere. My phone rang again.
Every time it rang I looked at it in terror.
Well,
sometimes you cannot do too much about how the schedule goes. Rooms aren’t ready,
landlords do demolitions, clients want in. I wondered how my clients felt about
the jumble.
“I couldn’t
wait to move out of my office,” my first client told me. “The landlord was a
total pill, the place was too expensive and it didn’t fit my business anymore.”
I am lucky
enough to have people who understand.
“By the way,”
she added. “Don’t let any of the guys pick the paint.”
Sage advice,
literally. We went With Mountain Sage and celery, with a celadon for my therapy
room. And I found my clock - a week later.