Imagine that you are in the middle of an important activity, then suddenly you receive an unexpected call. The caller is oblivious to your engagement but still seeks your indulgence. However, you have a strong preference for solitude because you can focus 100% on the task at hand and avoid unnecessary interactions. Just as I started to pen this post, I received a call but went ahead and picked it up because I knew it would be brief. Forgive my manners. Upon reflection, I think I am usually the victim of my creation, in particular the phone, with which I spend the most time. Frequently, it would have been safe to stick to some simple precautionary measures like being in "Do not disturb" mode. I would have eliminated callers who wanted to engage me at such a critical time. Last week, we went to celebrate the birthday of a friend who was commemorating his golden jubilee. I regret not asking him how it feels to mark that important milestone, I mean he had done half a century on this earth. When you are in your mid-thirties, like yours truly, you often think that getting to be a fifty-year-old bugger is quite some distance. Yet, the reality is that sooner than later, time flies so fast that you wonder how those grey hairs appeared. Something about life is that it teaches us to slow down and take it easy. We are usually in haste for practically no reason. Everyone who met the 'birthday boy' couldn't help but remark how he had aged gracefully, and looked youthful tantamount to a chap in his thirties. I am tempted to say that he aged like fine whiskey. He loves rare whiskey, nope. He just has a preference for it as opposed to other liquor brands. He is an easygoing guy, loves hanging out, sports a bald head, is without a hint of snobbery and has an authentic demeanour that sets him apart from some of his peers. Unlike some chaps who upon getting to a certain age adopt an air of entitlement, he was different. His approachable nature and genuine character easily makes you feel at home in his presence. Discussing personalities is not usually my forte. Yet, as with any other person, everyone usually has a weakness. I first met this chap a decade ago. Back then, he owned a modest little pub. I thought that he was a regular John. Someone we'd refer to colloquially as 'Japap.' He was quite adept in manoeuvring the gruffy and squally street life. Still, he was also book smart and sharp, knowing how to navigate the complexities of the corporate world. He had unique and unconventional ways which he perfected in his quest to earn a living. Let's call him Ken for the sake of this narrative. Because Ken is a short, memorable, three-letter name with a single syllable. Ken is like a sniffer dog. He quickly grabs an opportunity when he sees one. And he does not only seize such chances but also ensure he maximizes their potential to his advantage. Ken had asked my friend and me to help organise a birthday for him at a local joint capable of accomodating him and his friends. Having 15 years of experience in nightlife and club leisure, I felt like we needed to show the guy how things are done on the other side of life. He needed to trade in his rustic Kienyeji-style set up for a cosy and sophisticated setting somewhere uptown and urban.
As is the norm and standard procedure of our operation, the celebrant is usually required to provide a budget, and in return, we provide him with a show stopper. Even if he wants to indulge in something wild like the devil's dance with wasp-waisted ndogo ndogo with a big booty, we can always promise that unforgettable experience for an extra fee. Though, to be honest, we've never actually done that extra bit. Obviosly, the guest list is limited to a trusted inner circle because things can take an unexpected turn. Chaps like Ken, who run pubs, tend to have an extensive network of friends who might come with unprecedented expectations that are overwhelming when on a budget.
To cut the long story short, Ken ended up disappointing us so badly he had to atone for his sins in another way later on. He had committed to a day of indulgence, which was to include locating a venue for a preliminary strategy gathering prior to the main party. Unfortunately, this did not materialize. It could be that we also disappointed him. The Whatsapp group we had created for coordinating the ceremony failed to gain momentum—it was dead on arrival. The individuals whose contact details we had collected for invitation were also non-committal. Their lack of commitment killed the group spirit. At some age, individuals feel like they have made it in life and they do not like to be instructed on how to go about their life choices.
Come to think of it, why are we always so much emotional when we are told or made aware that a certain expectation can't be fulfilled? From the way that Ken was behaving, it was apparent that he could not be trusted. He was a very cagey man. He was the kind we term as a finicky character. The chap who will overpromise but when it comes to delivering, that is where the rubber meets the road. That's when the treads realize that the road is not often that smooth because the surface wears out depending on the way the road was built.
Although Ken never fulfilled his promise, he went ahead and joined his peers because they were willing to purchase him drinks and have fun their own unique way. Had I been in the same position, I would have opted to avoid spending at all costs. Guess it is the economist in me that loves frugality. He later claimed that his friends treated him to five bottles of Martel VSOP though we remained skeptical because when we asked him to present pictorial evidence to substantiate that he was indeed showered with Cognac, he declined to show proof. I mean we know his fondness for whiskey. At the end of the day, when a chance presents itself, we want an easy way out. What's more, it could be that Ken enjoyed himself in the newfound company. I cannot blame him because we were not good salesmen to present a compelling case that our party was going to meet his standards.
The next day, post the party, Ken invited us to his pub where we indulged in fine whiskey. He wanted to redeem himself. Subsequently, I felt it was a way for atoning his sins of ommission and commision. At least he bought a distinguished label. A brand that when you sip it leaves a smooth sensation with a rich oak wooden taste. And the drink glides down your throat leaving you pleasantly inebriated. But as always it was a trap. Once you have finished the first free drink, you are forced to buy another drink in his tavern.
Hasta La Vista Baby.
