Saturday, March 4, 2017

Gratitude, A Rare Ug Commodity

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             

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