When a barmaid assumes you are also notorious!
You’re at this drinking and eating establishment, the very place where patrons can be enjoying their beer and receive calls without having to move 200 metres to avoid stupidly loud music.
You’re waiting for an old friend, a weather-beaten media colleague, who has promised you lunch and some beers.
Who am I to turn down an offer from someone who’s normally broke, for he works at one of the many media houses in Bongo where scribes get paid only when money is available?
And, more often than not, money isn’t available! But life goes for hapless scribes who even manage to pen stories that win media awards!
You’re digressing, so let’s go back to our story. You drink liberally because your colleague has instructed that no matter how much you’ll swallow, he’ll pick up the bill.
It’s clear they got paid something to reduce the huge arrears their boss owes them. Halleluiah!
The guy arrives when you’re in your second beer, and when you inform him so, he says, “You must be joking!”
You’re about to apologise for taking a whole two bottles before his arrival, but he preempts you by saying he expected you to be on your fourth beer, at least.
He’s joking, of course, for he’s fully aware you’re a three-beer man, unless you’re “forced” by generous friends, take, say, four... or even five.
He proceeds to order us a huge amount of roast goat with fried Kilimanjaro bananas.
We’re soon joined by a barmaid who has changed into home clothes because she has finished her 8am-2pm shift.
Your friend calls her wife, and she calls her husband. It doesn’t matter; he’s probably four times her age.
They’re Mr and Mrs and you call her Shemeji—sister-in-law.
Your in-law drinks Savannah, a bottle of which costs Sh4,500. But so what? Her “husband” has the money—today at least. You’re okay with a Castro-Laiti, and your colleague takes Coke.
The barmaid handling our table (call her Rose) is visibly envious of her workmate, who’s receiving royal treatment. You can actually read it in her face!
Now when Rose asks you if you could buy her something, you say fine, but you quickly ask her to state her brand.
“Me, I just take Sere Laiti,” she says, to your relief, for you feared she would say Savannah.
Your colleague and his “wife” excuse themselves before it was totally dark, leaving you with no bill except that of Rose.
It’s soon time for you to leave, and you aptly inform Rose while handing her a Sh10,000 banknote.
“May I have my change, please?” you say.
She says fine, then from her purse, she produces Sh4k and hands it to you.
“How come you’re giving me a change of only four thou?” You remark, trying your best not to shout.
“Yes, Mpenzi Wangu, I took three bottles; thank you so much,” she coos.
You put the change in your wallet, cursing inwardly as you walk away without saying goodbye.
Most likely, she believes you share your friend’s notoriety.
