I think, I am a very helpful person.
If I can help, I go out of my way to do so.
Let’s call him Charlie. Charlie
was frus that Daughter was sitting at
home doing nothing – if not, going to town to do something called ‘passing
time’. Rather than her idle away, he asked if I could help her connect with
Silk Events – seeing I knew the MD.
I had met Daughter – briefly, and
she’d come across as the ‘impressionable type’ - very scattered and trailing
the rest of the world. Before I met her, I advised that he makes sure she’s
organised in her dress, CV and does some reading on what Silk Events does.
On the anointed day when I met
her, of the five young women sprawled out in reception, it was difficult to
know who had turned up for the interview. All of them were dressed like they
were going to a school leavers bash in Entebbe. If not, a Butcherman kiggunda at Gaba beach. Ripped jeans,
more bling than Mr T, and tops that had their bosoms spiralling out of control.
When she saw me, she laboriously
trudged over – almost like Charlie had forced her into attending the interview
against her will. As to the other girls, she said: “My BFs. They gave me a push.”
WTF, which mulalu asks her BFs to give them a push to an interview?
Let’s pause a paragraph or two
while I bring in Patrick Otembo – one time head of Sales and Marketing at
Capital FM back in the day. I was in his office when Interviewee turned up
wearing jeans and a polo t-shirt. When he presented his CV, it was plainly obvious
that it was a photocopy of a photocopy, of a photocopy, of a photocopy – so
faded, you could hardly read what was on it. Worse, it looked like it had been
photocopied using a cheap copier in Wandegeya market in that, when the CV was
placed on the plate, it was not placed straight but, at an angle which meant,
some of the words on the CV had been sliced off. While Interviewee didn’t see
anything erroneous with the way he dressed or his pitiful attempt at
photocopying his CV, Patrick furiously did.
Patrick let rip and went to town
on him. He flogged him. Then chopped and diced him into mincemeat. Not done, he
unleashed a barrage of vulgarities, belittled him, before haranguing the stunned
and petrified fellow out of his office and all while ripping up his CV and
throwing it at him.
Getting back, I too could have
pulled ‘a Patrick’, but like I said at the start, I am a helpful person.
Rather, I hauled her into a side room to tell her of her errors. It was a
mistake.
Daughter swung me the most
vicious and vindictive look when I dared suggest that The Malaya Convention was not taking place here. Her boobs were so in
my face, I could literally make out the veins in them plus, her filthy and no
longer white bra straps, really needed a good week-long soaking in a basin of concentrated
Jik.
As for her CV, from the start, it
was riddled with a diarrhoea of errors. It was titled: ‘Curriculum Vitae
Resume’. Hmm. Under nationality she had stated ‘Alur’ instead of ‘Ugandan’. As
I pointed out each blunder, Daughter fumed and frothed more at the mouth – interpreting
my trying to help her as an unpardonable aggravation. Oh, I almost forgot.
Guess what she listed as her only hobby? Mbu
‘going to town’. Hmm.
But digest on the ending to the
tale. Days later when I met Charlie, he too was bitching and irate like
Daughter. “TB, the whole idea of Daughter coming to see you, was to get her a
job – not to give her a lecture.”
Gratitude is such a rare
commodity in Ug.
Pictures: Internet
No comments:
Post a Comment