disorganized physiotherapy slave-labour

my father was opening a physiotherapy clinic (no, this is not what he did for a living). for the grand opening, he invited everyone to come to the office in one day to set up their appointments. i, for some reason, was the only one scheduling the appointments. at first, i had a desk-- then so many people arrived that they had to sit in a gymnasium and they all got cantankerous when the process was obviously going to take hours. well, ladies (and i don't remember any men-- hmmm?), if i weren't dreaming then your phone numbers would be only seven numbers long and names wouldn't be nonsensical-- but i concentrated hard enough to notice this and tried to make sure i had every name and number correct before i left you-- so it took a long fucking time. when the voices in the room began to create an impatient and bitchy rumbling, i began to get real nervous and agitated and wondered why my mom, dad and grandmother were sitting and chilling and watching me run around rather than a) implementing a more coherent, efficient plan or b) fucking helping me? i was running between aisles-- choosing the most agitated ladies first-- which wasn't fair and created more agitated ladies-- but whatever-- my common sense was all fucked up. this is about where i woke up-- nothing solved and lots of ladies still wondering when they were going to get their appointments while i ran around making appointments and bickering to my family for being so unhelpful.