Lady Power

Through my peripheral vision, l could see the flutter of flags outside The Cafe. A flutter of flags outside a cafe, pub, restaurant or shop usually means there is a promotion going on but, seeing the flags did not have the customary green and black colours of Tusker Malt Larger (TML) that I am well acquainted with, there was no need to squint my eyes to find out who they belonged to.

In The Cafe, it was one of those days when I wanted to be left alone. Well not literally. I did want Waitress to take my order and then scoot as far away from me as possible. She did just that though not voluntarily I might add. You see, it had taken her the best of a whole five trips to and from the bar just to serve me a TML, so if she was that scattered then, I was justified in wanting her to be as far away from me as possible.

I was settled. As the iPod serenaded me with Roberta Flack’s killing me softly and setting me on a blissful memory drift, I was irked to find that there was a female form standing next to me and coughing in an attempt to garner my attention. What was wrong with Waitress? Did she not comprehend my earlier instruction that she scoots as far away from me as possible? Did she want me to spell it out to her in Luganda?
Taking a leaf out of John Nagenda’s book when he berated a journalist at The Sheraton Hotel who interrupted him as he had his lunch, I too did just that. The berating was so ferocious that, she was reduced to tears.

Oh, not tears which happen to be the first and last line of defence for most women! As I tried to calm her down, it became all too apparent she was not Waitress but Marketing Girl who was pimping Vero Water. With tears all swelled up in her eyes, she blabbered on about how she wanted to offer me a free bottle of Vero Water and if I liked it enough, she would give me a crate because it would be befitting of my celebrity status.

Okay, so Marketing Woman acknowledged that I am a celebrity though she was still at fault because you just don’t pounce on a celebrity nor do you cough to introduce yourself. I think Small Mark who works for a drinks company near ‘the beach’ should know. But wait a minute, is Small Mark a celebrity? Hmm, I don’t think so. Wrong person to use as an example. Perhaps Q and Speaker would be better examples.
So I let Marketing Woman finish her spiel and though the tears were still streaming down her cheeks, she had done her homework and had done a good enough job in selling the brand to me.

However, it did leave me with a dilemma. As she had done a better job of pampering me than Marketing Women from TML or Marketing Men from Sportsman (I quit the latter last week in protest), seeing that I am now into healthy living, I ought to abandon TML for Vero and I suppose my threats will put more than a shudder of fright down the spines of the people at BAT and UBL.

There is a ‘but’. I didn’t like losing out to Marketing Woman. I should have been stronger and laid some more into her – chewing her up and spitting her out the moment I saw her eyes fill up with tears. Not so?

Waitress – not Waitress who I told to scoot and put a million miles between her and me. This was another one. I was at a function at which, I was one of the organisers. The function was attended by HE and Wifey amongst other people – by the way, is calling President Museveni ‘HE’ and referring to his wife, Janet as ‘Wifey’ instead of First Lady abusing the office of the presidency?

As finger nibbles were served, from my vantage point, Waitresses were doing a grand job. They were moving though the guests with relative ease and doing the job just the way it was demanded of them during a briefing earlier that afternoon.

I have to pause for a while because my smile of satisfaction is starting to wane. There is something wrong with Waitress whose hairstyle is difficult to comprehend. I think Salon Lady would have called it a weave but in my opinion, it looks more like a nest – a nest that the Marabou Storks that hang around The High Court build out of the rubbish from Grand Imperial and Sheraton hotels’.

As I was saying, there was something wrong with Waitress with Marabou Stork Hairstyle but I just could not figure out what it was. As she weaved her frame through the guests, I lost her. I scanned the room trying to find out where she had vanished off to, but bleak. It was as if she had been beamed into the black hole without anybody noticing.

I put an APB out on her. I know somebody is going to ask me what APB stands for and it is ‘all points bulletin’ which, is used by the police when they are hunting for a fugitive on the run.

With the APB out, I once again scoured the room looking for her but can’t find her. May be she went to the washrooms? I wait by the doors to the washrooms until it dawns on me that I have to move for two reasons. First reason: Women Guests going in and out of the washrooms are looking at me like I am some pervert who makes it a habit of loitering about women’s toilets. The second: There is a pungent smell that’s wafting out whenever the door is pushed open. Hmm, I wonder who could be responsible. Despite her appealing size 8 figure, could it be Lady in Blue Trouser Suit for she looked the type who could let rip a killer of a fart.

With no success at the ladies washrooms – well apart from being tagged a pervert who hangs by the ladies washrooms, I return to the function and going up to the bar for a TML refill (no, I have not gone back to drinking TML for this incident happened before my run in with Marketing Woman from Vero Water), I peer behind the bar and notice movement on the floor. Getting a closer look, it is Waitress with Marabou Stork Hairstyle and guess what, she is squatted and stuffing her face with fish fingers!

Eek, eek, eek! What would happen if HE or Wifey decide to saunter over for a drink and caught sight of her? I had to move fast. I politely tell her to put down the tray and be on her way home. Her response? “Shia!” and finished off with a look of contempt.

When it finally dawns on her that I am one of the organisers, she pleads for forgiveness. It doesn’t work. So she goes in for Plan B and fills her eyes with tears. Plan B didn’t work either. I had won. Satisfied that I had put her in her place, I went back to mingling with Guests.

I think I was talking to Erik Van Veen and Philip Besiimere who, were then with MTN when I saw her emerge from behind the bar. Rather than making for the door and going home like I had ‘firmly’ instructed her, she made a beeline for me.

And just like that she dropped to her knees, lashed her arms tightly round my leg and started squirming out for forgiveness! It was panic stations! Despite the cold night, I was suddenly hot and sweaty. Van Veen and Besiimere gave me ‘looks’ as did one or two Guests. I tried to calm her down but, she was not having any of it – well not until I had forgiven her and promised not to tell her bosses. And with that came the dreaded feeling that I was about to lose the battle. Okay the thought of losing the battle did not hurt much. What did, was losing to Waitress with Marabou Stork Hairstyle of all people.

I had no choice but to forgive her. And with that, she stood up, dusted down her knees and returned to serving fish fingers while making it a point to sneer at me whenever she saw me. And whoever said: ‘It’s a man’s world’, I am sure a certain Jennifer Musisi who firmly wears the pants in KCCA would vehemently disagree.