HI FOLKS, HERE’S OFFICE LIFE (3). OFFICE LIFE IS WRITTEN BY ABIMBOLA ADEBAYO (@Bunmi_Bimbola). PLEASE READ AND ENJOY. DON’T FORGET TO DROP A FEW LINES IN THE FORM OF COMMENT. THANKS
Office Life (1) https://oscarpoems.wordpress.com/2014/01/02/office-life-1/
This episode is dedicated to Temitope Salami. Life is added to your years and years added to your years. Happy Birthday Tope.
Media practice was getting more interesting for me. There was always free food and drinks almost everyday because of the regular assignments I covered.
The ladies in my area who had heard my name mentioned in news commentaries or saw me on the television had turned me to a kind of demigod, and all craved my attention.
Before I knew it, I started receiving calls from different people, known and unknown, asking for favours, many of which I could not even solve. I played along though, promising to look into their issues (like a boss :D).
I have always had this penchant for woman-related ‘wahala’. If I thought that my trouble with the ladies will end outside the television station, I was dead wrong.
Of course for me, keeping some distance from the opposite gender always saves me lots of problem but I have never learnt to do just that. Some of the ladies in and outside my department in the television station had at one time or the other offered to buy me lunch for different reasons.
I never knew I was using “the teeth of the cobra to scratch my nose”. I was just playing away and flirting with the ladies, not knowing that ‘the oga’ who facilitated my internship appointment was interested in some of these daughters of “Eve”.
I was firmly treading dangerous paths. The “slave trade” of sorting full staff after each assignment still continued and I was coping but my bubble was bursted.
I was stopped from following reporters for assignments all of a sudden. Before I could say “Jack”, I was re-assigned to the Library. My bubble had been burst, wings clipped and swagger turned to stagger.
Reality dawned on me as I started working in the Library I so much derided. I was no longer appearing at assignments and so brown envelopes became distant memory. I began to lose ‘big fans’ as well.
The only daily duty was to arrange and re-arrange video tapes and sleep. I became moody and sulked most of the time because things were not working in my favour.
Indeed this was not best of times for a ‘celebrity’ in making like me. As I was starting to think of what might have gone wrong, I remembered I had not been using the Holy water Baba Aladura gave me. Doing a quick calculation, I discovered I had actually not been doing so for about a fortnight.
I was lost in thought, could this be the origin of my set back? I asked myself.
For me, since my Oga who also serves as my back bone is now against me, drastic spiritual and physical actions must be taken.
At the close of work that day, I went to the “Jedi joint” close to the television station. I sluggishly picked a corner and settled down. By then, I had mastered all techniques of drinking the local beverage. I placed my order of “Orisirisi” (mixture), plus ‘ponmo alata’.
Within few minutes all my worries had disappeared and my brain started a ‘google search’ for a solution out of my dilemma. The result of my mind ‘google search’ placed a devilish smile on my face.
Activation of plans started immediately. I checked my wrist watch and the time told me my ‘Oga at the Top’ would be at his usual beer joint. I paid for the consumed jedi and stepped out of the local joint with my legs wobbling and my eyes tinted.
After standing on the same spot for about fifteen minutes to regain some composure, I got a bike rider to take me to my destination. I could not say how long it took to get there but we did after what seemed like a full day. I did a fast scan on the car park and saw his car parked at the usual corner.
Without wasting time I marched inside and located an empty table not far from where he was seated. He had already ‘knocked down’ three big bottles of “honourable”.
I signalled the bar man and directed him to give my Oga two more big bottles of “Honourable” instructing him to tell Oga it was from “one of your boys”. I thought loudly to myself “this game must change”.