Monday, March 14, 2016

The Call (repost)


Two days ago I got a really strange call from a guy we (I) shall henceforth refer to as John1. Strange, and I'll explain why.

It was in the middle of the night in a remote old town. Everyone was asleep and not a creature was stirring, except Ben, who was taking another cup of cocoa and had just put in five teaspoons of sugar...so he was busy...stirring. This part is not relevant to the story, and it wasn't midnight...more like 7pm ish.

Anyway the phone rings from an unidentified number, and since I am not in the drug business I answered.

"Niambie"
"Hi, am I talking to Ben?"
"Who's asking?"
"Never mind, are you Ben?"
"Bye bye" and I hung up.

He calls again, this time more polite. He says his name is John and wants to ask me about "something important". Sure, I tell him, ask away. He does this thing that is peculiar to old men in Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, where they beat around the bush and by the time they get to the point you are at the threshold of telling them where to shove it.

Apparently John is dating this girl, Jane2. They have been dating for the last 8...EIGHT YEARS! I am about to tell him to hold the line as I take listener comments...since the call is starting to sound something akin to Late Night Capital...or nowadays, mid morning radio. So I make a gesture of "go on", though now that I mention it I realize he didn't see it.

So he asks me if I know her, and if I'm dating flo...i mean Jane... Nope, I didn't bother to produce further information because he asked,"Are you dating Jane" instead of a more specific question like, "Have you dated Jane at any time within the last eight years, more specifically when you were 19, and have you ever  had a three way with her and her best friend at one time?"

So the poor soul continues to tell me how he suspects she is cheating and how he is just calling to make sure of that and wants to make a decision... I'm assuming the decision here is whether to kill her then himself, or, torture her, kill her then himself. Because from my point of view, eight years is practically a decade, I've lived for just about two of those, meaning he has been in 1 relationship for just about a third of my life....my head hurts...that's a lot of math.

Pushing the calculation further, I dated her for sometime before I got into campus so if I subtract those years it comes to...cheating bitch! Not on my part though, I was pretty happy enough to get laid those days. I left when the L word was sprung, because that was just scary...then.

Anyway John, soon to be famous on the news, asks if we could meet and discuss it further. But first things first, I had to know how he came about my number. You see, I'm not in the habit of sending out mush texts, and I figure the last time I talked to her was early this year, the last time I sent her a text was over two years ago, so it really doesn't make sense.

Though i guess when he was (secretly) snooping through her phone he was drawn to my name...everything about me screams AWESOMENESS. Serious, even when I litter, the sweeper always finds himself pausing over my garbage for a bit and can't understand why. I ooze awesomeness and can't help it...pity girls don't notice it. I guess it's the geeky Clark Kent effect...that's a mystery for another entry.

Anyway by now I was bored and he'd started bitching about how hard it is when you are dating a hot chick, since everybody also notices and tries to get her... He was close to tears which was pretty awkward for me so I told him shit happens and went to hang up.

He ended by asking me not to tell her because it might screw things between them. I choked on my saliva at that. So I hinted that 2k gives me amnesia...guess he didn't get the hint because by the time of the publishing of this entry, nothing in my mpesa account...yep...bone dry.

Moral of the story: Shit happens, and most men are stingy bastards

*(1) names haven't been changed because the author doesn't really care about John's identity
*(2) names have been changed because she probably knows where the author resides...but it rhymes with "plo"

Repost from 2010

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