OK, this didn’t happen on a Tuesday, but seeing as my last random story was on a Tuesday, I figured what the heck?
Where do I begin. Hmm… Well, Mama iCon has super powers; the eeriest of which is her laser eyes.
She’s always wearing glasses but when she takes them off, human beware. Her lasers can read your thoughts, check what you ate for lunch, tell if you’re lying….Or they can burn a hole in your soul. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of the laser eyes. Doesn’t matter how tall or small you are. I’m close to 6ft, she’s closer to 5. She could still turn me into a pile of ash given half a reason. And she’d turn a midget into a pile of ash too given a smaller reason. A smaller pile of ash albeit, but he’d still be lasered to nothingness. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen.
So when she asked me to go renew my brother’s Driver’s License, I had to be careful how I said ‘No’. In fact, I had to careful not to say no. At some point, I even got scared to say yes. So I didn’t say anything, I just stood there knowing she knew what I knew and that I was powerless.
By ‘it’ I assumed she meant my mind. So I rescheduled everything else and then went on my way. After having lengthy discussions with the security about my camera (“It’s not a sniper rifle, just a really big lens”), I finally made it into Times Tower. There are 3 identical entrances to the building, all equally crowded and confusing. I returned to my security guard friend – because you become friends once someone goes through your personal pics and says ‘Aww, cute baby.’ – and I asked him where I should be heading. He pointed to a long line of people leaking out of the building. This line went on outside the building but this didn’t quite dawn on me initially. See, at first, I just wanted to find where I was meant to be, so I obliviously walked past what sounded like the population of Ethiopia, there to renew their Visas, presumably.
Once inside, I realized that there were numerous badly numbered counters with really long queues on them. I asked where I needed to go and was told to join what looked like the shortest line. I made faces at the Ethiopian populus as I skipped towards my line tra-la-la-ing.
Oh…kay. Maybe this wasn’t the shortest line. How many people could possibly need to renew their licenses? This is Kenya, how many people even have licenses? Alas, I was not bothered. This would not be a problem, you see, because I have the patience of a saint.
What I should additionally clarify is that I have the patience of a saint who has ADHD and no Ritalin.
Pretty soon I was dribbling saliva generously about to start foaming out of the side of my mouth, imagining that I had an AK-47 and that everybody was a target and in my way, and for that they were going to pay.
That’s when I heard the ‘thump’. Now a ‘thump’ is not a sound you hear often. Not to be confused with a ‘bump’ which is what happens when two semi-hard blunt objects hit each other, or a ‘thumb’ which is what Drake looks like, a ‘thump’ is the sound a sack of potatoes makes when it drops out of a pick-up. But there was neither pick-up nor potato farm nearby. A quick glance around revealed that the problem was actually that some chick had passed out. And by ‘some chick’ I mean a relatively healthy woman.
That didn’t work.
Right then a security guard disrupted our little gathering. He huffed and wheezed as he quickly told everyone to step back. Then he stared at the broad. He didn’t attempt CPR, or clearing her airways. Instead he kinda poked at her forehead with two fingers and then got up, held his fingers to his nose and walked away thinking hard. We assumed he’d gone to get help.
A few minutes passed before yet another guard haphazardly walked past us. This one wasn’t a weirdo like Sergeant Smell-your-head from earlier. He was, on the other hand, quite angry about something. And that ‘something’ was ‘everything’.
After nearly spitting on her, he tried to sling her over his shoulder. Don’t let movies fool you; picking up unconscious people isn’t easy. See, they don’t cooperate, so you are very likely to dislocate their shoulders or suplex them instead of picking them up. Or you could completely fail to pick them up, like General Lee Grumpy did. So he resolved to dragging the broad to a little open space closer to the door and then propping her against what seemed to be an innocent bystander.
Anyhow, as this drama unfolded, the previously tame crowd had broken formation, opened their mouths and began raising their voices; they decided to get unruly and uncontrollable. One guy began hurling snide insults at the angry security guard, with a chorus of people behind him ad-libbing approvals.
Guy: “Do something about these lines!”
Guy: “We’ve been waiting so long we even forgot what we’re doing here.”
Guy: “Some of us have been here so long that they’ve passed out or left.”
Guy: “…and you’re the dumbest security guy in the history of private security.”
The guy then realized he had made that unnecessary leap in his taunts from ‘inciting’ to ‘insulting’. He also realized that the security guard was bigger than him. So did we. I thought I saw someone taking bets and I swear I heard someone behind me ask for popcorn and a soda. While all this commotion was going on, the wise ones in the group were leisurely walking to the front of their lines and leaving the dramaholics to their destructive devises and WWF fantasies. I was among the sneaky bunch that made it to the counter, paid and snuck off.
Right at that moment, my phone rang. Mother’s super-satellite hearing had informed her I was done. She had a new errand for me to run.
(to be continued)