It was a dark and crappy night.
We were trying to return to the good old U.S. of A. following a trade show and found ourselves stranded by a snowstorm in Jolly Olde England. For the Brits this means an inch and a half. Everything was at a full stop. It generally doesn’t snow very much in England, so unlike Vermont, where we come from, there is a shortage of shovels, plows, and “gritters” (that’s what they call the sand trucks…because they spray grit on the road. No crap.). So there we were, stranded in an airport with 100,000 cranky travelers. We decided to “go native” and did what any self-respecting Brit would do: We headed for a pub.
We found ourselves in a pub surrounded by chaps and lasses, tossing back pints of warm, frothy beer. The place was crowded, and we were starting to experience the first symptoms of Snowstorm Syndrome: extensive drinking, darts, and pub songs. While most of the televisions were showing football (or “soccer” to you and I), we found one that was actually showing Football…or at least the pre-game to the Super Bowl. We tucked into some newspaper-wrapped fish and chips and settled in.
The place was pretty packed, pretty raucous, and we found ourselves approached by a nattily dressed elderly gentleman. As seating was at a premium, he asked if he could join us. Not wanting to re-fight the revolution in a beer-soaked pub of hooligans, we invited him into our circle. More frothy pints were ordered, small talk exchanged, we joined him in cheering on the Birmingham Blues, and he managed to mumble something patronizing about American Football. As we watched the paralyzing snow flurries continue outside the window he raised a pint, and wiping the foam from his lip said, “Don’t you just hate it when things like this happen? Sometimes life is crap, eh mates?” Glug, glug.
We clinked our mugs and slurred, “Hear! Hear! Life is Crap! God Save the Queen! Drink, Drink, Drink!”
Several hours and several pints later, in a moment of astounding clarity, we looked at each other and exclaimed in unison, “Life is Crap!” It was perfect, and an industry was born.
What we realized in that crowded pub, and what we embrace every day, is that Life is indeed Crap. It’s not always great, not always rosy, and we all face challenges and mishaps (Some more than others. One day we’ll introduce you to Simon in shipping.). In the end, though, keeping a positive attitude helps, and Laughter is indeed the Cure.
What started as a toast has grown into a business and our team of happy Crapsters make all sorts of crappy things: crappy shirts, crappy hats, mugs covered in crappy stuff, and so much more crap. They come up with crappy sayings, crappy images, ship our Crap to our Crap Family, and provide hours of inspiring Crap and joy. They’ve motivated us to expand our horizons with Life is Ruff (for the dog-lovers who are fans of Crap), Life is Poop (For the little Crapster), and Wine is Life (for those who like a little claret with their Crap).
We’ve come a long way since that not-so-snowy night in England, and we’ve yet to put a Crappy t-shirt on everyone (professional wrestlers keep tearing them off), but here’s to the natty Englishman who started us off – Thank you, kind sir, for giving us the gift of Crap.