The craziest I’ve seen a woman do was when she stopped our taxi in Nakawa. It was about 8:00pm. I was returning from class. She got out of the taxi, asked the driver not to leave her behind. She went into a trench, pulled up her skirt, pulled down her undies. She squatted in that trench and did her business, releasing the contents from her bladder like she didn’t give two shits who was watching. She got back into the taxi like a boss. No one laughed. At least not at that time. We all pretended as though we’d seen nothing.
The fitness instructor at Clarion Hotel finds me in the men’s changing room and says, “I haven’t seen you before.”
The changing room has a toilet that I took a morning dump in. It’s one of those toilets that when you sit to let out your shit, your legs and boxers can be seen by whoever is outside. Who cares anyway? It’s a men’s locker room. The lock is broken so you use a nail that you turn to keep it locked.
“It’s because I’ve never been here before,” I say as I wear my socks.
“So is this your first day?”
“No, I just came here to freshen up.” [I didn’t want to tell him I was there to take a dump.]
First, I think this bloke is a joke. He isn’t petite one bit. His biceps are toned. His chest muscles draw a map on the sweatshirt he’s wearing. “Why would a guy like him call himself Petite?” I think to myself.
“Ernest,” I say as I extend my hand to greet him.
Then it occurs to me he’s name is actually Petit, like the former French footballer Emmanuel Petit.
A female colleague once asked me if men look at each other’s willies when they are taking a leak in the urinal. She imagined when men go to the urinals, they put up puppetry shows of willies to entertain each other.
I told her that never crosses our minds, unless you’re a psycho. We go to the urinal for the sole purpose of why we are there. Take a leak and leave.
I tell my grandma I’ll be moving to a new country. “It’ll be for a long time,” I say. I tell her it’s for work.
She smiles and places her left hand on my arm and says, “That’s good. I’m happy you’ve told me about it.” She says a prayer for me. I say Amen.
“I hope you’ll marry when you come back.”
This one is a repost
I’m probably going to make zero sense here so if you’ve got somewhere to be, please go save the world. Go help your employer make those PowerPoint presentations. Say hi to that person you have a crush on. You might get lucky before the week ends. I don’t mean it that way.
Or you can sit in that meeting where some guy from the top will say something like, “We took a deep dive into some of the issues you faced as staff last year. It’s true, we need to find a balance between this and that. Our action points to resolve those concerns will require your input as well.”
He’ll ramble on and on and you’ll drive to the land of boredom.
You’ll then say adios in your mind. You’ll pull out your phone and hold it under the meeting room table. You’ll plan your next move. Do you know where you’ll end up? No? Alright, I’ll tell you.
You’ll be back here, reading this nothingness, wondering why you came over here in the first place. If it helps, I’ll be holding a trophy for you. It’ll be a trophy of nothingness.
Truth is, with the way things have been going, I thought to myself, “Shit, my ass could get fried out here and fed to a pack of hungry rabid dogs.”
I guess that won’t happen. If it does, I’ll look for you. And when I find you (mark my words), when I find you, I’ll do nothing (Insert smiley).
If you’ve read this far, it means you, like me, are into silly and sometimes useless stories that make you chuckle (maybe not).
You’re a free bird who flaps your wings against the tide. Talking of birds, have you watched Bird Box? Test your tolerance to uncertainty by watching it. Spoiler alert. You’ll find Boy and Girl. Yes, those are their names. And many people will die.