My Shitty Experience

My-shitty-ExperienceWe all have shitty experiences, however I never thought mine would play out the way it did. Here’s what went down:

Ken and I had been dating for over 2 years and so far our relationship had been great. Every Friday, we would meet after work and have dinner together; this was our tradition and we loved it.

On this fateful Friday, I got to work in high spirits because I was excited that I was going to meet my Ken after 5. During the lunch break, I ordered Milicious’ famous Pilaf rice. It was delicious… but then, a few hours after my meal I got a quick notice from my tummy requesting that I vacate some unwanted residents. I didn’t yield to this request, as I was very busy meeting up with deadlines.

Before I knew it, it was after 5 and I got a text message from Ken:

“Hey Babe, I’ll be at your end in 5mins.”

I quickly rushed to clear my table to save my Boo the stress of waiting.

Fast-forward to 2 hours later: we had just finished eating a lovely meal at Prime Chinese, VI, and I stepped it down with ice-cream for desert. Another exciting Friday with Ken. As we headed home, we sat in the back seat of the car, lost in each other’s company as Oga Mike drove quietly.  Suddenly, nature took it course and there was a rumble in my tummy. I told myself, “Nah, I can handle this, I’ll be home soon.”

Unknown to me, the “Karashika” in my village weren’t asleep oh. We drove into heavy traffic and I began sweating profusely, even with the AC on. I couldn’t keep a straight face; it felt like my tummy was the only functioning part of my body and I was losing my mind slowly.

Hmmmm, at some point, the traffic wore jeans and dark shades. I thought to myself, “Could this be the end time?” Boo kept yarning but I was totally deaf to whatever it was he was saying. I looked through the window and sighted a Mr. Biggs not too far away.

Without thinking, I dashed out of the car, and Ken – who was surprised at my sudden action – ran after me, screaming my name. I showcased a bit of athletic skill as I flew over a couple of gutters to get to the other side, feeling like Moses with the Israelites.

I stormed into the eatery with Ken running behind me, totally oblivious to whoever was looking at me; what I was going through was greater than the stares. I stormed into the toilet like Superman on a rescue mission, with Ken right behind me banging on the door and asking, “Are you okay?”

Without shame, I screamed, “Get me a damn tissue!”

After the unwanted tenant was out, and after the feeling of relief, the shame finally caught me. I looked at boo and told him what just went down. He looked dazed for a second, and then we both burst into laughter.

It was a shitty experience, but it could definitely have been worse.

Do you have a shitty experience to share? Please give us the gist in the comment section.

My life as a Middle man

My-Life-As-A-MiddlemanStrangely, I have always found myself in positions where I mediate between two parties. Let me just say that it is not always an exciting experience.

When I was younger, I was the middleman between my parents, bearing the brunt of the anger on behalf of the receiving party. I was also the middleman between my sister and her boyfriend, transporting sweet and bitter messages for the lovers when needed, and now that I’m all grown up, I get paid to be the middleman. Officially, it’s called being a Client Service Manager.

To use a village scenario to describe my job, the clients can be likened to “gods” of the land, the “dibia” is myself (ordained to talk to the gods and also act as the eyes of the gods) and the “villagers” are my team members, who exist to do the will of the gods, but would never want to talk to the gods directly.

If the villagers do not deliver what the gods’ expect, the gods summon the dibia and unleash their anger on him. The gods then give new, and sometimes ridiculous, instructions to the villagers. The dibia takes “the divine message” back to the villagers and the villagers in return vent on the dibia, who happens to be the bearer of bad news.

That’s the summary of my job.

There was a particular day I had a “divine meeting” with the client – the gods.  The client wanted us to do the undoable with his brand. He wanted us to smash old records and break new grounds, putting no limitation whatsoever on our creativity. This was totally strange to me; the gods are never this free with their instructions. So I asked further, “O wise one, are you sure this is what you want? I think we need to draw a limit to what can be done.”

“No! Don’t put yourself in a box! Be free, speak the language of the customers,” he responded.

I got back to the village and summoned the villagers, “Be free! Be creative! Jump into trendy conversations! Be yuppie! Be you!” I exclaimed, “These are the words of the gods”.

There was a moment of silence.

“Are you sure?” they asked, and I assured them that this was the will of the gods.

From then onward, the villagers went all out. They crossed the seven forbidden oceans, broke all ancestral customs and introduced the white man’s technics to their work. They were truly free, indeed.

The gods noticed these things and realized that they were not, in reality, ready for the changes. And so, they called for an emergency meeting with the dibia.

“Stop! No more! Delete! You misunderstood,” they screamed.

Guess who had to break the news to the excited villagers.