Type A and Type B; an analysis
By Christa Cripwell
Most things in life cannot be categorised in a binary way. They fall somewhere on a spectrum. Some examples include sexuality, politics and how much you like coriander. But there is one thing that is strictly binary: you are either Type A or Type B.
A type A person is in complete control of most elements of their lives. Here is what their morning (as a working woman) would look like. They wake up in the region of 6-8am. They make their bed straight away after springing out of it following their first alarm. They then brush their teeth with their fully charged, would-be-very-attractive-if-it-was-a-person, electric toothbrush, and when they put the toothpaste on, they squeeze from the bottom of the tube not the top. They then wash their face with their array of skincare products which sport a bubbly lower-case font and are in soft pink bottles, all from the same “quite expensive but it’s definitely worth it because it is your skin after all” brand. They then follow their well-established skincare routine, with one of those special hairband things to keep their hair out of the way. They would then put on their outfit for the day (including, always, matching socks) which had been laid out the night before, washed, dried and ironed. They would then put on their outfit-complementing jewellery on (which they had not worn during their sleep). This would include a pretty pair of earrings which would get at least three compliments later that day, one or two necklaces and a dainty bracelet, all in either silver or gold but definitely not both. They would then pick up their fully charged phone and pre-packed handbag, which is incredibly chic yet as roomy as Mary Poppins’ one. Before we get onto breakfast, this is what would be in their handbag: keys, wallet, phone and… *big inhale* a laptop and phone charger as well as a fully charged portable charger, a small yet effective hairbrush, a top-of-the-range water bottle, a delicious pre-made salad in a beautiful tupperware for lunch with a compartment for a fork which has, crucially, got the fork in it, deodorant, perfume, lip liner, lipstick and gloss, concealer, mascara, suncream, a mini umbrella, smints and gum and a stamped thank you letter they had written for an event they had attended less than twelve hours before. Finally, they would have packed workout kit (a matching set from Lululemon) that they would wear for their midday workout at their really nice office which had a gym and showers which have Jo Malone shampoo, conditioner and shower gel because their company’s ethos is: happy employees = good business. Anyway, I digress. They would then glide downstairs, have yoghurt and granola for breakfast, both of which have labels saying, “no nasties,” a lemon water or a matcha (they haven’t had a coffee in years), wash the used utensils and sweep out of their spotless house to a slightly drizzly day, but it is absolutely fine because they have their mini umbrella. The whole day unravels in this same vein of delightful composure until the new day begins, and they do it all again.
A type B person has quite a different morning experience. A type B person is someone who has absolutely no control whatsoever of any element of their lives. Here is what their morning would look like. They set their first alarm in the region of 6-8am. They wake up after the seventh alarm (having snoozed the previous six) with five minutes before they have to leave for work. In a blind panic, they run to the bathroom, they squeeze the non-existent remains of their toothpaste onto their manual toothbrush, which has not a single straight-facing bristle. They brush their teeth for a fraction of the dentist-recommended time, splash their face with cold water (not for hygiene or skincare purposes, but to wake themselves up), run back to their room and look in their floordrobe for an inoffensive work outfit. They have mismatched earrings in (which they sleep in every night and haven’t taken out for years because they have lost all their other ones) which will attract at least three insults later that day. They then spend around two of the valuable five minutes looking for clean socks. They settle for the only two in sight which are not of the same sock pair, or even the same sock species. One is a long and fluffy sock with Christmas trees on it, which they were given when they were eight. The other sock is one which they thought said size seven on the label when they bought it, but it was actually aged seven, so it stretches just past the ball of their foot and leaves their heel and ankle naked and highly vulnerable. This sock situation won’t even garner the classic “odd socks day, is it?” comment from a type A person because they will actually be not only stressed but disturbed by the fluffy/half ankle sock combination. The final thought before leaving their room is “phone, wallet, keys.” After saying something along the lines of “I hate myself” or “fuck my fucking life” under their breath, they would see their phone which has only 4% battery, peaking out from the floordrobe where it fell after the dramatic duvet flick following alarm number seven. They then enter a paralysis induced by the unknown whereabouts of their wallet, which they do need because their phone will not survive the length of time between now and when they need to use it for Apple Pay. Remembering what trousers they wore yesterday, they rummage for them in the floordrobe and snatch the wallet from the pocket. They decide to sack off the keys because the time that was once of the essence ran out long ago. Flying down the stairs five at a time, they open the fridge hoping they might be so lucky to find a mushy apple in there to eat en route. Alas, no apple, but their keys are there because this person likes to just put things down anywhere and forget about it immediately. With no bag, just a dead phone, a penniless wallet and fridge-temperature keys in their open pockets, they run for their lives, with the fluffy Christmas tree sock greatly hindering their style and speed while threatening the lifespan of their big toenail. They run into the rain outside, with no mini umbrella. The whole day unravels in this same vein of chaotic self-destruction, until the new day begins, and they do it all again.
*I have just read this out to my mum. She replied, “Mmm… you go beyond the realms of type B; I would say you reside in the region of type C* with a cherry on top.”