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Am in class writing the initial thought to this post during a
short break that I have to make maximum use of in order to take advantage of
time because it has become a scarce commodity in the recent past sue to
pressing issues that have to be dealt with. I forgo the job in order to be in
class on a typical Saturday morning because the Elnino weather that was
presumed will cost the taxpayers more than KSh. 15 billion is turning out to be
just another moniker for the usual short rains as its damage has not been as
disastrous as the other rains witnessed before. Let this not be another conduit of making a certain calibre of people ripping the public coffers in the name that the disaster has failed to occur and their is need to spend that which has been already budgeted for.
I had to forgo the workplace
just to serenade myself in a class that I find too reclusive because of my introverted
nature in most formal classes. I attend in order to break the monotony of work,
work and more work. Sitting behind a computer and posturing on how to be
creative having not mulled over the probable while at it in order to execute
breathtaking and arresting ads that need to be displayed in the social media
and other different arenas owing to the demanding nature of being a graphic
designer cum social media strategist.
Hitherto, I had
never had the idea that I would be enclosed somewhere with a high-end touch
computer surfing the net and copying rival company artistry in order to see to
it that I have done my day’s job. That the machine costs a figure almost ten
times my current pay is not even an antithesis. But with employers being kind
of stringent with jobs and man having to have money to survive means even if it
means that you are paid below your worth, you think you may tinker the damaged mentality
that employability is based on the fact of having ever worked somewhere for
sometime.
However, I needed a
job and the remunerations then when I started were not a major issue. Now it
is, because I can subjectively say I have grown in heaps and bounds ever since
I changed careers which I will keep on doing until I become fully stationed in
a zone of contentment. Again responsibility is cropping in and the current
profession is a total antonym of what I studied in campus and my current class
pursuit of making a financial analyst- however all professions have a close relationship. In fact, I only became friends with
investopedia recently to add more content to my financial ken. I can honestly
say that as much as my career prospects may be in a quandary, the future is
brighter. The pain I go through prepares me for something bigger that my be
forthcoming or not coming in the near future but the ultimatum is that at the
end of the day something will happen. “Mui huwa mwema.”
Going to rave Solo man
has never been my bed of roses. Succinctly, it can be a guilty indulgence for
the very fact that I am phobic about where I may end in. In my wicked mind, I
was planning on going to spend a few bucks in Zodiac, a popular joint on Tom
Mboya Street that my workmate Tony had indulged me to sample. Apparently, he
had a dramatic experience there which made me want to make it to this club and
sample it out. He had taken some legend brandy after our bbq in copious amounts
and went ahead to this club that has prices of beer retailing at KSh. 230 which
is painful for a man like yours truly to part with owing to my current
financial turmoil. What’s worse is that he invited friends who had been paid
and he ended up kneeling on the floor praying to some unknown god only for the
pals to mistake him for an illuminati stalwart, the inebriation having taken
effect as a result of mixing Guinness and Pilsner and the earlier legend that
made him blubber some nonsensical stuff until he found himself home the
following day in bed with his expectant lady totally weary and confussed.
It defeats logic to
engage in guilty pleasure by having fun all alone in a setting that might
excite the nerves in you having taken two or three bottles and no peers being
around, you can end up engaging in uncalled for acts that may make the bouncer
come to your rescue in a not so palatable approach. Sitting in a club
alone can also makes you flatter than a week old glass of coke. Chances are you
may not be having enough shekels then or you may as well need to visit the ATM
to withdraw cash in your drunken stupor. To eschew the severity of a reclusive night out that
may not have the fun filled flare, you earlier on call a pal who had promised
to buy you a drink when you met a week earlier because he was nursing some schoupid
malady that rescinded his partake of ale and he had stuck to the new state like
a regulation because juggling a bigger master in terms of health issues was a
no no for him.
Alas, Bena is the
guy. He is a former high school acquaintance who perused in Moi Uni. He tells
me to choose a place of my choice where we are to have a drink ever since he
finalized with his medical regimen, which aint that bad. The good thing about him is that
he has a larger than life personality. His extroverted nature makes him an easy
guy to socialize with and easily likeable because of his hackneyed chitchat. He
knows what you want to hear and says it without mincing his words. On the
contrary, I am that guy who rarely divulges gen because I like to be fed with
what someone thinks unless you are a perennial acquaintance.
Albeit him being
kind of shagzmodoz, he has overshadowed the shortfall with his immense mastery
of the city’s backstreet joints where you go for a jug when you want to be
drunken at a price your pocket only knows. As that guy who loves company, I
head to The Edge Lounge. Brayo, a workmate whom we share more traits in terms of
being single and love for ale, grinding bodacious and bootylicious Chiquita’s and petty gibber accompanies me. We had earlier on wanted to go to some backstreet pub but found
it full and since this was going to be my first time in club Edge which was
also his first, I was of the opinion that why not? Essentially, this would have
been the club of resort at wee hours of partying because of its expensive and urbane nature. Then you find it in a wild state.
Apparently, this
club is quite decent and has this clientele who look like they are proletariats
in some middle level companies working as the common staff or in private
entities that are raking in just enough to party in a not so ritzy club. The
waitresses are in black shorts. Those that show flesh and your loins may be a
tad bit disturbed for a few seconds as you ogle at the beauty of what is rare
to you because of their congenial nature. The club décor is grandeur, the
blaring bass of speakers is lethal and the brawny bouncers give it a secure
feel. Though they are muscled, it is the fleshy ones. One outstanding bouncer
looks like Johnny Bravo. A bulging torso with toothpick like legs which gives
him a funny appearance now that his skin is also craggy.
We order for our
drinks, Brian goes for Guinness and as I settle for my Malt which I love served
warm.
To be continued............
