Nawwwww. Promote that kitty.
Turns out, you can put a price tag on anything these days, including the humble nap.
That’s right, a Surry Hills Wellness Studio is now offering classes on the art of taking a nap. A single 30 minute session will set you back $12, or, if you’re really into falling asleep in the middle of the day surrounded by a group of farting, drooling strangers, you can pay $100 to do it 10 times.
For that price, I think I’ll just continue slamming espressos like a student with a 12am Turnitin deadline and being crabby/vacant/filled-with-simmering-rage at all times, like every other adult I know.
But in case you do want to take a nap in the middle of your working day (no judgement, like, none at all), here’s your guide to doing it for free (with supplementary sleepy kitty illustrations):
Step 1: Find a secure location.
If your office is a hip young startup, you may have nap pods or bean bags available to you, but if not, you’ll have to get creative. The back seat of your car is acceptable, but make sure you crack a window. Underneath your desk is risky, but convenient. Public parks or the couch in your boss’ office are not advisable.
Very secure location. A+ Source.
Step 2: Get comfortable.
Slip off those stilettos, loosen your belt, and maneuver yourself into as comfortable a position as you can manage in the cramped napping spot you’ve chosen. Try to avoid smooshing your face into things or risk coming back to work with post-nap creases in your cheek.
Maximum comfort level reached. Source.
Step 3: Set an alarm.
There is a rule and it is not to be ignored. 20 minutes is the optimum time for a power nap. Any more or less, and you’ll wake up groggy and disoriented, with the striking feeling that you’ve been transported to a far distant future where nothing makes sense.
This kitty has woken disoriented. Source.
Step 4: Toss and turn.
Step 2 has failed. You are not comfortable, largely due to the fact that you are a grown adult, crammed into the back seat of a car, or the space beneath your desk. Proceed to toss and turn fitfully, before convincing yourself that having one foot tucked up next to your elbow is actually a pretty good position.
The perfect position may be challenging to achieve. Source.
Step 5: Check how much time you’ve wasted.
Oh no. How long did you spend trying to find a comfortable position? How much of your 20 minutes has elapsed? Better check. Which requires unfolding from your human origami pose. Oh no.
About to receive some bad naptime news. Source.
Step 6: Panic because half your nap time is gone.
Right, you’ve got 10 minutes left. But if you fall asleep now you’ll no longer achieve Optimum Nap Length. Will you then wake up to find that robots and/or apes have enslaved humanity? Should you reset the alarm? This is way too much pressure.
WHAT WILL I DO NOW? Source.
Step 7: Close your eyes and attempt to forcibly turn off your brain.
Don’t count sheep, don’t lull yourself with nonsense nursery rhymes – just reach out with both hands and embrace the dark and silent void of unconsciousness.
The blissful face of oblivion. Source.
Step 8: Manage to fall asleep just as your alarm goes off.
Step 9: Go back to work.
Congratulations, you’ve completed your middle of the day nap! You are no more well-rested or zen than you were before, and now you have a crick in your neck. But at least you didn’t pay money for the experience.
Result of completed middle-of-the-day nap. Source.
Now that I’ve buttered you up with cat pictures, it’s confession time: tell me honestly in the comments, would you pay $12 for a 30 minute nap class?