I woke up at exactly 9 am. I was two hours late for my job interview. “Oh my God!”, I exclaimed, as I rushed to take a quick bath. In less than 5 minutes, I was out of the bathroom. Pressed for time, I lacked the luxury of relaxing and picking out the perfect outfit. I threw on my crumpled skirt suit, combed through the plethora of shoes under my bed and grabbed my red Gucci bag. Convinced that everything was in order, off I went. I barged out of my house with such force, it was almost as if the gate had just spewed.
I managed to find a trotro going towards where I was headed. Everything should be fine now, I thought. After all, in just a couple of minutes, I would be at my destination. Sigh, this day was already off to a clumsy start. I noticed everyone was whispering among themselves. But what did I care? I was late for my interview and that was the only thing on my mind. One particular old lady seemed to be staring at me coldly, almost as if she was looking deep down into my soul. Shifting my gaze, I looked out the window. Today was not the day to be accused of being someone’s husband’s side-chick.
“Yes, yes backseat”. It was not until the mate asked for my lorry-fare that I realized I had nothing on me. No money, no phone, no purse, no IDs, nothing! I had switched bags that morning, leaving all my valuables in my black Versace bag, at home! At this point, one thing kept playing in my head, Whitney Houston’s, ‘I Have Nothing’. Before I could even try explaining my predicament to the mate, he yelled out,“Madam, si, si! Wonim s33 wonni sika na wob3 tenaa car no mu, memp3 nkwasias3m, mede3 si w) h)!” I felt everyone’s eyes fixed on me. It was almost as if they pierced through me. Others let out stupid giggles they had tried to suppress from the start. Bowing my head in shame and disgrace, I alighted and looked straight ahead of me. Who in my situation would have dared look back, lest they be recognized by someone they knew after such an embarrassing experience? In all matters involving shame and disgrace, this was the way to go – Face your front and move on.
Upon arrival at my destination, I was greeted by another wahala. I just couldn’t catch a break. The security-man blatantly refused to let me past the gate. All attempts to get him to understand that I was an interviewee and had to get going since I was already over two hours late, proved futile. He only shouted, “Wabodam na woob3 hwehw3 adwuma!” Without an idea as to what was happening, I decided to head back home.
“There is no way I would have passed the interview anyway, since I’m too late”, I said to myself, with a hint of sadness. Buried deep in my thoughts, I was awoken when I bumped into a complete stranger. Losing my balance, I hurled down towards the ground. I would have fallen face-flat, had he not stretched out his arm to catch and prevent me from embarrassing myself a second time. I have no idea how we ended up in his office, but someway somehow, we did. With a smirk, this stranger ushered me to the washroom, where I gazed on my reflection in a full-length dressing mirror. I was shocked by own reflection, and immediately I understood. The person staring back at me from the mirror looked completely crazy. For starters, she had on a pair of shoes, but with different colours. One blue-black, the other, brown. Her suit was totally crumpled, and she had a red bag to supposedly ‘match’ the rest of her outfit. To make matters worse, there was a dry lump of soap, close to my right ear in my hair! I must have forgotten to wash that part, in my haste that morning. Hmmm…girls abr3. So I left my house this morning looking like a complete mess.
This gentleman handed me an already-made dress and a pair of fitting shoes, which I changed into and corrected the anomaly in my hair. Guess what next I received from him. A brand new tooth brush and toothpaste. Believe me when I say my cheeks were red with embarrassment. It must have been to eradicate the foul odour emanating from my mouth. The stench was enough to trigger an asthma attack. How on earth could I have forgotten to brush my teeth?
After doing what needed to be done, he suggested that we had lunch. How was I to turn him down? After all, I had no money, neither had I eaten since morning. Surprisingly, we had a wonderful chat during lunch. Almost as if we were long lost friends. It was a little past 5pm when I checked the time. He offered to take me home, and I gladly accepted. Once we reached my house, I thanked him immensely for everything he had done. With a slight chuckle, he advised me to set my alarm always, in order to avoid all the embarrassment I had suffered earlier from repeating itself. We both laughed heartily, followed immediately by a dead silence. Only God knows how long we starred at each other. In as much as I did not want to ruin the vibe, I had to get going. I thanked him again and gave a final goodbye. Before I managed to walk off, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back.
I have no idea how his tongue ended up in my mouth, but it just did. He began kissing me slowly yet firmly. He knew what he was up to. It was a clear game of offer and acceptance we played with our tongues. I can’t describe it enough! He was the offeror, and I, the offeree, or should I say, the acceptor. Something somewhere was getting warm…and… wet… and it was bad…bad…bad… e over me well well.
Ping-ping-ping! The alarm sounded loudly. I woke up only to realize that the man of my dreams was in fact my korshiorkor-infected dog, and we had been conducting an exchange program with our tongues. “KAI, disgusting!” I spat out in disgust. Imagine the amount of drool I had already glady received in my mouth. I quickly grabbed my slippers and beat the living daylight out of my dog. It didn’t need an angel to prophesy that that would happen. It should have known that I was sleeping and had no idea of what I was doing. Stupid dog!
I’ve been brushing my teeth for over two hours with four different types of toothpastes, combined with hand sanitizer for over an hour now. Can I get some help here?
Story by Christiana Obeng-Koranteng
Edited by Jojo Konki Sapara Bentsi-Enchill