My life is littered with Entrepreneurial Failures. Some of them immortalised on video.
There was the Virtual Tourism Brain Wave. (Disaster Diva will take you where Oprah fears to tread) That gave everyone a laugh before it went down like a bird in a heatwave.
There was the Digital Diva business that nobody wanted to pay for. Everyone either does it themselves or finds some sucker to do it for free.
There was the Speech Writing business that I started in FNQ. Which was a bit like opening a bar in a mosque. I didn't get stoned (if you don't count the spliff) but I didn't get customers either. Pig Hunters and Fishermen don't need a Speech Writer. And the white collar set all had their speech in their pocket before they flew in.
Then I became a self Publisher. While I was still high on the idea that Social Networking was going to change my world..
The first book sold 100 copies and the second book sold 4. So I got out while I was still ahead...
There was the Pet Companion Business. Cheaper than a Kennel and more love than a doting mother. I was the ultimate 'man's best friend'. But with the growing amount of homeless who were taking up pet minding in exchange for shelter that business didn't take off either.
So I dropped the Entreprenerial Act and tried to Work for the Man. Applied for everything from tele marketing to bar work, picking fruit, holding a lolly pop stick and working in a car wash. I knocked on doors, sent resumes, made phone calls, answered Ads. Turned out that The Man didn't want me either.
You need a certificate in Germ-ology to clean a toilet these days. You need a Drivers Licence to hold a lolly pop stick. You need a Responsible Service of Alcohol Licence to work in a bar. Every job opportunity needs a ticket and every ticket costs money and at every turn you're cornered by someone from health and safety. It makes me want to live in the third world.
But ever the optimist I am never short of a new business idea. And so this week I created
After walking on the back of a friend at Christmas who lay down a wreck and stood up in 7th Heaven. She told me I had a gift and called me a Sole Sista. A true healer. That I'd made her feel ten years younger and light as a feather. She reminded me I had some skills I hadn't used in a long time.
I'd taken up holistic massage in New York. It was growth industry in a post 911 climate. I used shiatsu, aryuvedic and swedish techniques and I also did a little bit of back walking. I learned my skills in an East Side Day Spa. And then I started my own business called Australian Bush Massage.
The catch cry was 'Vacation Laying Down' I burned Eucalyptus Oil and worked to didgeridoo and I sold it as a 'Holiday Down Under. Experience the Australian Bush without leaving Manhattan!' You can feed off a novelty act in New York. They love a bit of blarney and they'll try anything once.
But when I came back to Sydney my bag of tricks didn't work. My chutz lost its pah and my shtick sounded nuts. Nobody needed healing here anyway. They were too busy feeling lucky and patting themselves on the back. How the hell do you heal the smug ? My business was over.
But after walking all over Suzie at Christmas I was once again inspired. And then I walked over my friend Misty and he too came to life. He particularly loved the part where i stood on his head and rubbed his face into the ground with my feet around his skull. His jaw clicked out for a minute but he clicked it back again. He said it was like being bumped around a spin dryer. He felt dry cleaned when I had finished with him. By this stage I was feeling very confident.
But then I walked on the petite back of my lovely friend Isabelle and when she moaned in pain I just told her to breathe. I was very arrogant when I think about it. The more pain you have, the more tension you're carrying' I told her. As if I knew what I was talking about.
But last night she told me that I'd cracked her rib.
I know. That's not funny. And I'm not joking. She had to get an xray and everything. She can't laugh without it hurting. The doctor said she'll be in pain for at least six weeks. And it's all my fault.
I said sorry about six million times but sorry isn't really enough. So I told her she should come around and punch me in the face just so we're even. But she's too kind. 'That's her problem' she said.
'She's too kind. She lets people walk all over her and her cracked rib is just a metaphor. That I had taught her a lesson to speak up for herself.' Oh Gawd! she really should punch me just to drive that lesson home. Because God knows if she cracked my rib that's what I'd want to do to her.
Soooooo I'm closing down my Walkabout Massage Business. I'm putting my feet to bed. Out of respect to Isabelle and her poor cracked rib. Mea Culpa. I'm just lucky she's my friend and is too sweet to sue me. She is satisfied with a bottle of wine as long as I don't make her laugh. So we'll forget the healing and go get drunk. I got off very lightly. She told me 'I should go back to writing my show. It's what I am meant to be doing.' There's no money in shows but the main thing is she forgave me. Thousands wouldn't. She's a sista.
I'm a heel.