The copy of The WhatsApp Doc I put up last Wednesday received all manner of feedback. I got left hooks and uppercuts. I got elbow hits, pepper spray, and knife cuts. At one point, as I ran for my life, I got stuck in a thicket with thorns that tore at my skin. I survived getting hit by a club.
A workmate sent me a WhatsApp. “TMI dude, TMI,” her message read. She didn’t put any emojis at the end of that text. The right emoji softens the texture of a message. Her text was dry. It meant business. I replied, told her I consulted with Lily before writing the story. She offered to vet some of my thoughts and help in decision making on whether or not I should publicize some things that happen in my life. She had a caveat though. I’d have to pay her. I was thinking I should probably pay her in juice currency.
For the almost three years I’ve known her, she’s always carried a bottle of juice to work. Every day. Her commitment to juice is out of this world. Even today, if you check her bag right now (don’t do this, gents), you’ll find a bottle of juice. Their bond is unbreakable, their relationship unstoppable. They have been going steady, juice and her, for as long as memory can remember and I don’t think they are about to stop. So yeah, if she agrees to payments by juice, I might give her the gig to get an exclusive on my posts before they go live. I was intrigued by her offer to sort out some of the chaff in my writing. I think I do need an extra pair of eyes.
And Daphne, a friend whose name has featured on this blog before calls me and says, “While reading that piece, I just kept thinking, ‘Look at this idiot.’” Daphne said I’ll have to pay her if she features on my blog again because she’s giving me content. I’m in trouble now. Her name has appeared here again. I will end this one here.
My other workmate told me she will never look at me the same way.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you revealed too much.”
That was one side of the feedback.
On the other end, I received good tidings, candy and a crown for sharing real things. I got virtual hugs and high fives, laughing emojis, pats on my back and well wishes. The men were especially different. They were straight to the point, no zig zagging. “Man, you’re story is relatable.” “That was nice, well written.” “I feel your pain, bro.” It was cordial and the guys didn’t look too much into it. It didn’t bother them. They saw the funny side of it and connected well with it.
So to conclude that chapter, The WhatsApp doc checked on me over the weekend. “Hey Ernest, how are you fairing now?” he asked.
I wanted to share the post I wrote about him but I figured that would be TMI. So I let it slide. I told him I got my groove back. I thanked him for checking on me.
“Great feedback,” he replied.
He must’ve nodded his head and felt fulfilled for having helped a man get out of a scary situation. We both continued with whatever business we were doing.
I guess this is the perfect time for you to switch to my next story which I wanted to be a continuation of this one but figured it needed its own space. See, I jumped on a blogging challenge train. I’ve committed to writing every day during this month of June. Today is day five. Catch my other set of thoughts in my next story. It’ll make you happy, I promise. Please, don’t leave this blog yet. I’d be so glad if you subscribed too.