the original kStyle blog.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Odd Scenes

1. A lady left me a message wanting to learn more about shiatsu. She had a whispery, childlike voice and a scattered way of speaking that make me think she is a young teen. I call her back. She tells me something unusual is going on, and she wonders if I can help. "You see, I'm an empath," she begins. I think, oh no, she can't turn off hearing voices or something. But it turns out that she meant that to be the normal part. She pauses, gathers her nerves, and adds, "And I think I have that seasonal affect." Winter depression? Seasonal Affective Disorder? That's the big revelation? I assure her that it is miserable, but perfectly normal, and that shiatsu can help. I offer to send her my latest newsletter, which is all about SAD. She doesn't currently have an email address, she explains, because the smutty ads just keep coming, and she thinks they are targeting her specifically. I explain that we all get those. She gives me someone else's email address, someone who won't mind receiving her email for her.

And then, in her scattered, rambling, crazy-laughing way, she keeps me on the phone for half an hour talking about whatever comes into her head. I gently try to return her to the topic at hand, repeatedly. I ask outright--and at last get her attention--whether she would like to make an appointment. I offer her giant chunks of time in which I'm available to give her shiatsu; in response, she asks for a time I did not offer: Next Friday night. I explain that I'll be at a Solstice event. She invites herself to the event. I explain that it's a private event. She begs me to get her in. I tell her about another, open event she can go to instead. She thanks me, but also says she would rather come to mine if I can possibly get her in.

She asks if I accept credit cards for shiatsu payment. I say no. She says this is a problem, even though she knows it's expensive for the practitioner to accept cards. I tell her I offer half-hour treatments at an affordable rate. She asks if she can get 40 minutes instead, because half an hour is not enough. Patience Meter on Empty, I pass my husband a note that reads, "10 Kinds of Crazy!!". He calls my phone so I can say, "Oh, call waiting!" and hang up on 10 Kinds of Crazy. She was clearly not, in fact, a teen, but a grown woman with issues.

If she ever gets it together to call me back to make an actual appointment, I have decided to refer her elsewhere.

2. The acupuncturist got drunk at the Christmas party. I went upstairs to use the bathroom. She opens the door, leans against the frame, smiles a silly smile and asks, "So how are you?"

"Good. How are you?"

She drops her eyeglasses off her head, bends over and fumbles to pick them up. She says, "I'm good, I'm good. I'm not sure how many martinis I had. Maybe 2...or 3...."

I ask if she wants a ride home. "Nah, I'll just wait here for a bit." I wish her luck navigating the stairs.

When I return downstairs, I find that she is curled up in the floor of an empty, dark room. She is talking to someone, but no one else is there. The hostess goes to check on the acupuncturist. It turns out she's talking to her boyfriend on the cell phone.

Only 3 other guests remain--me, G, another shiatsu practitioner. We leave. I wonder how the acupuncturist gets home.

The martinis were awfully good.


Blogger Narya said...

Wow. that may be way more than 10 kinds of crazy. There are some serious mental illnesses going on there, I'm guessing.

As for martinis, I do like them, if they're made with exceptional gin, but I find they tend to smack me in the head (and, sometimes, make me throw up).

7:27 PM  
Blogger kStyle said...

Yeah, seemed like quite a lot of crazies to me. I might not have gotten an exact count.

These were most excellent martinis, a choice of ginger pear or chocolate mint. (I had ginger pear. Just one.) They were certainly the kinds of martinis in which the alcohol is hidden under fancy flavors, and it could be easy to overdo.

7:38 PM  

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