The Devil Left No Stone Unturned

This started out as a promising sunny warm day that I even got to work thirty minutes early! Thirty! 

Until, Be Warned, the devil woke up.

My boss is kind enough to buy the office tea at ten and today, this was not a kind thing, Boss! Technically so.


Got my fill and went back to my desk where we have: (a) TFT Monitor, (b) keyboard, (c) mouse, (d) printer, (e) IP Phone, (f) calender, (g) novel, (h) stapler, (i) paper-punch (j) printing papers and a bottle of water. Right below my desk is a CPU and in front of it, directly below the mouse, next to my chair, PAY ATTENTION! is my handbag. You started getting ideas?

I place the cup resting on a saucer right between my keyboard and the mouse. I have to move the novel a few inches from the mouse for the saucer to fit. That also implies moving the paper-punch. That is easy. Right. Until I realize the stapler is resting at the edge of the desk and I have to move the mouse, again, to the back of the saucer. Don't get confused. This means the mouse cord is circling the saucer.
Get it? 

Great.


I pull my chair to sit and what other way for Beelzebub to announce presence than, get the mouse cord entangled on the chair and yes, thank you very much, the tea streamed into my HANDBAG! Could my morning get any worse Boss?


See: am still blaming my boss. Stop asking questions and my earphones are giving me the chhrrrrrrr sound but that is better than getting hurt and embarrassed, right? 

If you strongly disapprove writing and reading embarrassing moments, thanks for stopping by and we should see you in the next post.

So, sometime in between numbers 1 and 2, I FELL DRAMATICALLY DOWN THE OFFICE STAIRS, when the heel of my left shoe somehow entered the hem of my right pants leg.

                               How does that even happen?

What happens, if you miraculously manage to impale the heel of your left shoe into the hem of your right pants leg, is that both legs become...confused. Disoriented. "Toppling" ensues. The "toppling" is head first. 

Also: "Ripping." Of pants.

And, I would be so glad that at least nobody had seen me, IF INDEED NOBODY HAD SEEN ME. But unfortunately, that was NOT the case, and my personal downward spiral was witnessed by many, many people, including people whom I try to impress. Bet they're impressed now!

The mortification. MORT. IFICATION. 

I died. 

Right then, I died. 

I am writing this entry from beyond the grave. It's actually not even funny when everyone runs to "your rescue" all like, "am so sorry, are you hurt?" and you are curled there mooting whether you should cry, laugh, get up and run or go like, "of course am not hurt, my head is pretty much used to walking down the stairs very fast."


Am sure there is a bump on my forehead. Everyone says there isn't but I can feel it. It's there and it's growing by the minute. If it grows tumour-size by tomorrow morning, Dear Boss, am not coming to work. Ouch, that ankle joint!

To Ensure Perfect Aim, Shoot First and Call Whatever You Hit the Target

That will save you so much disappointment. Trust me. And thinking of disappointments, I have been getting almost everyone's share these past few days. Like would you believe these people who travel to spots along Thika Road? They happen to be more than China's whole population. And the transport means is never enough. You have to fight your way on board. Am actually planning on writing the Ministry of Transport a thank you note  for the high capacity Bus thought. That is a brilliant idea.And these large fonts look....LARGE...am so loving them!

So, where were we? 

Yeah, those people who live alongside the Super-Highway. I'm in this mix, and that is Super-Awesome if you live here. We have watched the baby road grow to this enormously amazing six-lane but trust me, not everyone living there is as amazing as the dark alley at Pangani. Some are monsters. Tiny dark monsters. They actually have black hearts and rat-looking brown teeth. Well, i think they do.

Because some of these not-so-amazing people STOLE my wallet. They planned it the minute they saw me at the bus-stop. Because thanks to my under-paying boss, I have not earned and saved enough to buy a CAR. I actually envy those peeps who have jobs that cater for all their needs. And a boss who will understand that I NEED a day off on Valentines day, Women's Day, All Mondays and on my BIRTHDAY. 

Those are very important days.And clients should understand that, too. Potential employers: please, stop reading this.

So, yesterday, I carried work home because, I am over-worked we have an important project that requires special attention, and these rat-teethed not-so-amazing people (who need to do their RESEARCH well!), started sending pinching signals to their "colleagues" when they saw my bulged handbag. I can only imagine what was going on in their small brains, the stupidest of them all thinking, "mmh, she must have taken a loan to buy a jet". And very fertile imagination. Like that of a dude who would kick a beehive full of bees to show he's got balls.

That's why they didn't let him open my handbag. I would have caught him and probably fed him my stilettos. He is needed in the group for the physique. Yeah, he's the strongest and deals with the "stubborn clients" so they chose the rather cleverer one who has seen his Class Seven end-of-year exam paper. Brilliant thinking. He brought all the experience I thought I had with the not-so-amazing people to a constant zero.


So, everyone at work is asking, "hey, why are you so quiet today?" and am almost saying, "dude, you really can't plan a killing spree out loud." Because y'all, I have not an Identity Card, nor a Credit Card, and am missing a few brown notes. AND because, how do these rat-teethed peeps sleep at night, knowing I now can't keep up with the City Askaris and the emerging Money Transfer technology? 


I would definitely feed them my stilettos. Or I would shoot at them, aiming at the 'brains' and if I fail, I will call whatever I hit my target. Am not teaching you violence peeps, I, too, do not believe in it. Let's now thank these unkind gentlemen for leaving my diary and phone exactly at the same spot I placed them. 


Should I send them thank you notes, too? Oh, no. They can go to hell because they are perfectly good at all they do. All they do is make people hate them. I hope you hate them as much as I do. And I more strongly hope they know how much we depreciate them.


Clutch your bags closer to the heart peeps! Brown-rat-teethed thickos love crowded bus-stops...