There are certain things I might start doing soon. I might start going to Church, like real Church. My ass needs to get a life away from the sofa set branch, and the ‘wekelea mkono kwenye telefishen wako tupate kuomba’ kind of pastors. That means I might also start paying actual tithe and not tilling away at a number on the TV screen. I might start learning actual Catholic hymns and forget the makekes tune. When I finally go to church I know I’ll have to contend with the priests humorless jibes, and maybe I’ll find humor in his laughter because he puts ten times the effort in his laughs than the actual jokes.
You might have noticed that my plans are sufficiently religious, the changes I might make in my miserable life are church-oriented, but not entirely because soon I’ll also be in a position to determine if mayai boil served with a generous smear of kachumbari and firi firi is a viable endeavor early in the morning on your way to facing an interviewing panel. If I get that job my friend, hail praises to the Lord Almighty. I’ll now be able to say that bad things need not necessarily happen to good people, sometimes the bad entices the good, lures the ever elusive idiot and for once you’re a lucky man, or woman.
I need not tell you that if you’re going for an interview dressing your best is imperative. Regardless of whichever the fashion statement you want to underscore, you know your best. That white Ralph Lauren shirt, slim tie, you know what I’m talking about, a t-shirt customized to suit your ideologies (can be political, ‘takataka gasia nyinyi *insert party name*!). Your best my friend. Because your mum said you need to get serious with your life and get something like a job, anything that will keep you off her eyes for a better part of the day. She also wants you to buy your own Tv set where you can watch wrestling without interrupting Papa Shirandula. *before I continue in my blubber let me be clear on the branded t-shirt first, only don this when attending an interview at the Nairobi County Senator’s office* So I wore my best, we won’t go into details here.
I do not remember taking breakfast but I remember stopping at Jemo’s mobile eatery and got two for the price of one. He owns hundreds of chicken this guy, and early in the morning (6-7) he runs an egg promo, you buy two and get one free, boiled eggs. But if you’re his buddy like I am you can get two for the price of one. How many bites do you take on a single boiled egg my friend? Three? Oh that’s very generous of you, you sure have enough time in this world. As for me and my ilk who are serious about pursuing the Kenyan dream in line with vision 2030, we have not much time so definitely we cannot afford that luxury with time. I’ve said how many bites I sink into an egg, donge?
I caught up with the last little rascal of a kachumbari who was trying to escape from the edge of my mouth, sent it back and boarded a mathree to town. That was the genesis of a seemingly long day of the greenhouse gases. I still do not know whoever cut short the supply of fresh air in the matatu, you have to believe me on this my friend, but by the time I was alighting the relief that characterized the faces of fellow passengers incriminated me. To hell with whatever they think, I was smartly dressed to be guilty of crimes enormous like that, especially on a Monday morning, because on a Friday morning that can be attributed to overexcitement regarding the forthcoming weekend.
‘’Whatever you hear, find or see here please leave it here’’, that was a poster on the wall behind the three interviewers, all female. Let’s just say that I obeyed the poster to the latter, only that I did the opposite- by the time I was leaving I left the room with slightly more occupants than I had found. Atmospheric occupants to be precise.
‘’Would you mind picking that call?’’, the lady in the middle offered to help when ‘Aichukuuuuchaaa’ persistently rang in my pockets. At this point I had just dropped the last and what I believe was the master bombshell (quite the actual literal bomb in shells) testimony to the rough day my stomach was having. Jemo’s eggs had finally found me, at an opportune moment and after months of merciless consumption, they were getting back at me. The interviewers embarrassingly fanned themselves with their files as I went out to pick the call.
That was the last they would see of me, and yes they can keep my one page CV that I ‘forgot’ on their desk. If they call me back for the job, I’ll leave the Sofa and head to church first before I get to that office, in the meantime, wapi hiyo remote? Sofa set branch Sunday service is about to end.