Humour: Just one of those days

Ever woken up feeling like your soul has been sliced out of your body by a spoon? Your brain refuses to connect with your body? You don’t want to leave your bed, but some inner, nagging voice reminds you how you are not your own boss; you have nothing to do but go to work!

Ever woken up feeling like your soul has been sliced out of your body by a spoon? Your brain refuses to connect with your body? You don’t want to leave your bed, but some inner, nagging voice reminds you how you are not your own boss; you have nothing to do but go to work!

Unfortunately you happen to be a humble writer, you enter the newsroom and come face to face with an ugly computer on your desk staring at you, with a menacing look it seems to ask you, ‘Hey buddy what do you have for me today?’

You try to ignore it but the tormenting look won’t go away. Seconds later your extremely deadline conscious editor (boss) hovers above you like a starved eagle aiming to strike a fat rat.

He throws you a short hullo! But by the tone of his voice you know what that means, it’s a polite way of saying, ‘Are you working or just warming that seat?’

Everything seems to be against you today. Looking at the wall clock, its short hand is stretched at twelve, damn! You loudly curse the time for over-speeding, the guy next to you thinks the curse just missed but that it was destined for him. He injects you the I-can-gouge-your-tiny-eyes out look.

You move to the next table to check on your buddy only to be stopped by a hand similar to that of a traffic police officer stopping an overloaded ‘Fuso’ lorry.

“Please,” he warns, “Am too busy right now, let’s link-up later.” You don’t say a word but slink away.
Now your lousy-sleepy mind tells you to request your Editor for clues. You are sure he will comprehend, days like these happen.

Believe me when a day decides to go bad, even a cleric can spit at your face.

Mr. editor possibly had a worse day, maybe the top bosses have just wrung him up, or the mother of his baby just called asking for money the second time in five days and threatens to go to his legal wife if he doesn’t disburse.

Maybe he is having tummy paroxysm or at worse he is nursing a two day old constipation.
“Mister...err..,” you start. “What?!” he barks with a bulging pair of eyes aimed at you before you even start. “I…I was wondering if you can give me a tip or something.”

“Are you kidding me?” He deafeningly bursts out! “What are you doing here in the first place? You belong to the streets hawking razor-blades and chewing-gum! Look at this guy,” he summons the entire newsroom, “He’s asking me to do his job…at 3p.m!”

The entire mass showers you with laughter.
You head for the door to unleash your rage on cigarettes and sooth your tension. You luckily get the last born in the pack but your lighter opts to go on a non-violent strike, you batter and pound it but wapi!

You finally hurl it away. You ask the gatekeeper for a matchbox, he beams at you victoriously and informs you, “Chief, you mean you’ve never noticed?”
“Noticed what?” You brusquely inquire.

 “I gave up smoking long time.”
“Imana ishimwe,”, you sarcastically respond, fortunately he misses the pun.

You now can walk through a brick wall to get a puff! You head for the only place you can on no account misfire, the kitchen. Your nearest canteen is the target. You avoid the crowded front door and pass through the back, and coincidentally it’s a jar.

You enter expecting to find the Mukamanas boiling and frying things, but save for the gigantic saucepan full of meat and food, there’s nobody, not even a short one! 

Probably gone serving regulars, you bend your ill-fated back to illuminate your cigarette. This is when the old-lady-chef enters, mistakes you for one of the notorious offspring of Satan, the enemy of peace who terrorizes them day in day out stealing their phones, aprons and food. Believe me; a well intended frying pan delivered by two strong hands on a human head can have an impact similar to that of a speeding bus!

I gained my conscious a couple of hours later, and no amount of explanations  could possibly change the fast spreading news of how I was nabbed  red-handed and  beaten  to pulp by an old woman  trying to steal  cooked food from  her  kitchen.

The story my now x-girlfriend downloaded was probably too spicy for her liking. She sent me a message thanking me for putting her in the lime-light, terminated the relationship and changed her phone number for good measure.

I also fully thank whoever contributed to making the most embarrassing day of my life a success, especially that old … woman.

Ends

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