6 keys from the edge…

I am not a snob. Seriously. I just like to think that certain things are beneath me. The problem is, I have the number one sign that someone maybe a snob. I am too bloody quick to defend myself and attempt to link myself to a certain class/group of individuals.

You know that thing where someone brands you a snob and you say, “I am not a snob! I even hang out with. . .”
Yeah, that confirms that you are one. That said, here are a few snobbish traits I have managed to pick up and some pretty lame attempts to justify them. Feel free to add yours.

“EATING JOINTS”

I eat “Rolex”. Shit, the combination of Chapati and Egg and “accompaniments” (****! That word actually exists?!) is to die for. It’s such a shame they couldn’t come up with a decent name for it. So yeah, I like to eat the damn thing. An urban legend suggests that rolex postpones hangovers. They will come, but they will come late! Thing is, I can’t bring myself to buy one from anywhere but Wandegeya.

Defense: Rolex originated from Wandegeya, according to our forefathers. You can’t expect imitators to reproduce the product efficiently.  Any Rolex from anywhere else is a knock off.

SELECTIVE EATING 2.0
Burgers and Pizzas should not be bought from a place that boasts a clientele of three. That is to say, if it is not Dominos, Nandos, Steers or even Antonios, they should be handled with caution and the sort of delicacy usually reserved for transporting landmines. Places that are overly eager to display their capacity to preapare “special meals should not be trusted. That’s to say, any place that is named thus; BURGER DEALERS, PIZZA SUPREME MAKERS or even CYBER PIZZA AND BURGERS DOT COM should be avoided at all costs.

Defense 2.0: Which sorta doubles as a confession. Some new outdoor food vending thing opened up in an area close to where I live and I thought I’d give it a shot. Never mind that it was next to a brothel, or that the guy selling stuuf had the marketing skill of brick. I figured I’d try out their burgers. If they were any good, I’d be visiting this place on my way home and I’d be able to do away with that silly “I Feel Like Chicken Tonight” place in Kabalagala. BIG MISTAKE. The burger I bought did not have CHEESE, as I’d been led to believe by the brick behind the counter, but had a friggin fried egg in there. WTF?? What sort of self respecting burger has eggs on the slab of meat?

BODA BODA RIDERS

I’ve gone on and on about this, one of the most convenient means of transport today, what I may have forgotten is this. Whenever I can, I have earphones nestled in my (where else) ears. From time to time, the other end may be attached to anything ranging from a media player to my wallet. Its not because I suffer an affliction that requires constant in-ear stimulation, but rather so I don’t have to be engaged in discourse with the guy steering us through traffic.

Defense: Boda guys seldom speak in a language you understand. When they do, I try to listen, but I can make out very little from what the wind lets me pick up. A typical Boda conversation will run thus;

He: Kati ***** naye ***** imagine ***** (laughter) ***** don’t you see ***** fish ***** dame
The  ” * ” standing in for words the wind has maliciously carried away and I have, consequently, failed to pick up. If I forgot to carry my earphones I simply smile when I think I am supposed to, jeer occasionally and shake my head in sorrow.

OCCUPANTS OF WAITING AREAS

These range from those at the clinic to the waiting area at a company you’re looking to join and are thus awaiting someone to come over and beckon you to some conference area for your interview. Standard behavior is to wait and keep quiet. Do not feel the need to engage in conversation with other occupants of the area. In as much as it may make the wait seem shorter, more often than not it will not yield positive results. If there’s a newspaper nearby I tend to read that. If I’ve got credit, I send messages or surf the net. Engaging in a conversation is a last resort and one you should turn to if you absolutely must stay awake.

Defense: Without planning it, if you get the job and the other occupant of the waiting area doesn’t, you will come off looking like a dick. An arrogant, self righteous prick and he or she will not have any problem with “accidentally” pouring stuff on you the next time you run into each other.
Defense 2.0: If you happen to be in a clinic, that interaction does not do any one of you any good when either one of you hears the other being asked to present the “stool sample” the doctor asked for. You will never recover from this, so you’re better off reading the text you received telling you to text the word, “ACNE” to ****

WAITERS AND WAITRESSES…and BARTENDERS

Once in a while, one or two prove that they are different and as such I should have no qualms about interacting with them. Please note, I said one or two. Usually the third or fourth  will make you regret the whole experience.

Defense: When you display a show of camaraderie with waiters and waitresses, more often than not they will figure that they are above being tipped and will likely keep your “change”. It’s happened to me a couple of times. And when I asked for it, it’s like I had cracked the world’s funniest joke (yes, Baz, even funnier than that Obama +Black House thing of yours). The times I have displayed an “I left my friends on FACEBOOK” attitude, I have been successful in getting my “balance” back with considerably less issues… granted, there is the possibility that my food may have been forced to accommodate someone’s spittle, but….

STRANGERS IN TAXIS

I try to avoid engaging in conversations with these people (that actually does sound snobbish) because of two experiences…

Experience 01: This one time I was trying to sell of my phone, I bumped into a guy that expressed interest in it…and at a price higher than I expected. Naturally, I felt obliged to “conversate” with him till I got to my destination and exchanged numbers with him. I was young, I didn’t know any better. I was also quite desperate. It didn’t seem like such a bad thing…until the texts started to come in.

“Sweetheart. I think we should meet and talk. It was nice meeting you”
“Darling, I am serious about the phone, I just want to know you better”
“Dear, I just want to be your friend, where can we meet?”

Experience 02: Everyone has gone through the communal newspaper experience, so I won’t even go there.

- END -

I was having a chat with a pal recently over possible holiday destinations now that Christmas is upon us. IT really is, the slut outside Capital Pub was wearing a tank top with the words XMAS SPECIAL screaming at me so loud, I was happy to see the Boda guy take some initiative and turn the volume knob down. Don’t these ladies watch telenovellas? Do they not have EATV? Why aren’t they fashionable? Anyway, I digress.

So during our conversation she suggests Mombasa. That’s as cool a plan as any, except for one small detail. The coast gets flooded over the holiday by tourists and locals alike, it’s close to impossible to find accommodation. It gets so bad even lodges have no space on the floor (don’t ask!), and what little space is available is rented out by the hour. You walk in and they hand you the key and a polite reminder that your wake up call will be in 59 minutes. (Seriously, don’t ask!)

Plan B would be an island off the coast. A little place we like to call Malindi…or Malaba (*EDIT : It’s Malindi. Malaba is a border joint and the only people who holiday there are truck drivers and prostitutes). I am not sure which, and I can’t confirm until said friend responds to my beep. Pussycat Dolls just had to go and **** up that word, didn’t they? Somewhere along the line, the conversation shifts to Mermaids and Mermen and the mer-experience. I know what you’re thinking, “of all the topics. How does one even hold attention for that long?”  You’re still reading this, right?

So the following are things we need to think about before we go in the pursuit of mer-people…or put another way, before we consider the prospect of hitting some mer-tail. Not you Cheri, we all know you are as pure as that chic on your blog. Now, for the rest of you that have crazy, fishy fantasies…

MER-People are FISH from the waist downwards.
Translation, you will not really get some. Okay, if you’re like Detamble and you’re content with just looking at tits, fine. You’re sorted, but if you are looking for something a little more tangible. Something to work with, sorry, you’re swimming up the wrong current. Plus, there’s no consolation prize here. You can’t even grope the stupid things. Your hands will just slide off their butts.

MER-People really ARE fish from the waist downwards
What does this mean? Well, from experience, fish only smells good when its been fried. I don’t even like it when its boiled and bony. So what are you dealing with here? I’ll tell you. A foul smelling being. Forget the taxi conductor that pissed you off. Forget that kid in class that thought deodorant was something that happened to other people. What you have on your hands is fish! Your best bet is taking the damn thing home for a drink and then, when it is heavily intoxicated (and it will be, because face it, he or she probably drinks like a fish) you lope off the bit you don’t need with an axe and then fry the rest.

MER-People SERIOUSLY are fish from the waist downwards
Hollywood has gone and presented a glamorous perception of mermaids. Like they are pretty beings with orange hair, breasts the size of which would make a cow shy and lovely wonderful fins. Screw that! I’m willing to make an allowance as far as the breasts go, but given that they dwell in the water, they do not watch TV so they don’t know shit about Fair and Lovely or Heads and Shoulders. Hell, they don’t know about Samona so there’s no way they will look all done up. They will also probably be local! And try as I might I can’t picture a fine fin. Have you seen the tail on a fish? Does it make you want to slip your hand into your pants?

Haven’t you heard? MER-People are fish from the waist DOWNWARDS
You are not going to hit the disco. It’s one thing to have two left feet, but what the hell happens in the absence of feet?  If you are the materialistic kind, you will not be seen in a MER-Person’s car.  On the plus side, you won’t have to spend on shoes.

And that, my friends, is why I am not going coastal soon… 

Daniella: Do your thing, wama. Go gerrem Tiger!
Chameleone: What? How dare you? How can you call me Tiger?! Are you comparing me to Mad Tiger?
Daniella: No, Sweerie, I…
Chameleone: Shut up, Mambo Bado! I am Reptile, him animal. Even worse, Animal with stripes. Me I am nice like butterfly, Kipepeo!
Daniella: I’m sorry. I meant all the best. Good Luck. Like in that movie by Spiderman
Chameleone: Mbu what, you think I don’t understand those of movies? Where do you think I be? You are like those other people, the ones who say I leave in the lake!
Daniella: Sweerat! I meant no ill will. I meant to say Break A Leg!
Chameleone: I don’t do things in halves. I Break 2!!!