Category: Business

Revenue, third quarter. Bookings up by twelve percent / Clients bring more shelves.

Costs, third quarter. Breakage insurance, high / Tuna covers it.

Staff, third quarter. Two new apprentices hired / One has left. We miss her.

Outlook, fourth quarter. Winter brings the holiday / Trees, baubles, and joy.

The board has approved this report. The board, for the record, is a ceramic frog on a shelf. It is awaiting a release of its own, pending a vote. The vote is scheduled for the first quiet afternoon of November, and the frog has asked to be informed in advance, so that it may prepare a short statement, mostly about gratitude, and partly about the edge of the shelf.

Our refund policy is simple, though it tends to confuse people. If you are unhappy with your session, we will return everything to where it began. That is to say, the floor.

Items cannot be put back on the shelf. This is because the shelf has been released as well. We can offer a partial refund of $12 for emotional distress, provided the distress is sincere and not merely about the vase.

Complaints are heard on Tuesdays by Master Oolong, who listens for a long and unsettling time, and then yawns. We have found that most clients feel better afterward. Some feel worse. All feel heard, at least by the room.

Every Kitty Kondo studio is graded on the Silence Scale, an internal measure developed by Master Oolong after years of listening. The scale runs from zero, which is a busy kitchen, to ten, which is the moment just after a glass falls and before anyone speaks.

Our Mantel Studio scores an 8.4, thanks to its thick rugs and absence of clocks. The Closet Sanctuary scores a 9.1, owing to the fur lined walls and a resident moth who has taken a vow of silence.

The front desk scores a 3, because Bao hums. We have asked him to stop. He says he cannot. We are working on it, gently, with treats.

Some clients ask why a single water glass release is $40. We understand. It seems like a lot for a few seconds of motion. But we ask you to consider what you are truly buying.

You are buying the three hours of preparation. You are buying the training, which took seven years. You are buying the quiet before, the pause during, and the clean, stunned silence after. You are buying the absence of a glass, which is the rarest thing in the world.

Also you are buying our insurance. The insurance is a bowl of tuna we place near the broken bits so we are forgiven. It is not cheap.