"Uko sawa, madam?" Sospeter asked. The tag around his neck announced that his name was Sospeter.
"Eeh!" I replied with a little pitch while I tried to stand straight.
"Na kwa nini unakaa ni kama unaumwa?" he asked as he threw a glance at my waist and saw it jerk.
"Hai? Hapana. Niko sawa," I said as I looked away feeling a little bit embarrassed.
I could also feel my stomach churn and my bowels preparing to launch a rocket of excreta and shame. My dignity was at stake.
"Kama uko sawa madam, hakuna shida," Sospeter said as he looked at the perspiration above my brows.
"Ai. Aki nataka choo," I said with my voice lowered so that other customers wouldn't hear about my needs as a human being with a functional rectum that wanted to explode.
"Choo?" Sospeter asked a little bit loudly.
Great. The entire bank heard and now they would judge me by my evident lack of bowel movement control.
"Hatuna choo ya customers, madam."
I panicked.
"Hata ya staf ?!"
"Ya staf iko, lakini..."
"Nipeleke! Twende!" I said in a furious whisper as I held his hand that was holding a pen and a paper.
He couldn't say no to my tight, desperate grip, so he led me through three doors and I was finally in heaven. I took my time. Diarrhoea requires all the time in the world. I went straight home after I had finished my deed in there. They must have used several cans of air freshener later on.
Thank you, Sospeter. Much as I have never (and will probably never) mention(ed) it, I owe you. You are my hashtag MCM.
Moral of this: If you find the roadside kebabs that you bought 3 days ago and forgot all about them when you hid them from your own child because you are a selfish, self-centered, greedy, mean person who's all wrapped up in their own self, and you suspect that the kebabs are long rotten because they smell like garbage and flies are clamouring for them, please, do not eat them. Unless of course you have a fetish for diarrhoea. In which case, we need to talk.
Eat healthy, this afternoon. If you can.
- COURTESY
Advertisemen