COMPLICATED
ODYSSEY (II)
(True-Life Story)
The
moment I got struck by the Automated Teller Machine (ATM) having waited
fruitlessly for over two hours, I fiercely walked straight into the banking
hall precisely at the Customers’ Service section, leaving other frustrated
guests behind. With the look on my face, anyone could attest that all was not
well. “I want to see the manager.” I forcedly requested from one of the ladies
seated at the section.
“Any problem, sir?” said the lady whom
appeared to be in her late twenties, never minded my tender look.
“While looking at my face,” I said. “Do
I need to answer that question?”
The three clients who sat before her
turned simultaneously, stared at me and were obviously marvelled over my manner
of approach in respect of my physical stature which showcased that I could not
be more than 20, though I was 23.
The
banker, on her part, was equally dumbfounded. “You just walked in and start
asking of the manager,” she managed to utter. “What is actually the matter?”
She verified politely.
“That
your ATM out there had kept me on the ground for almost three hours now.” I
frantically disclosed. “Just the moment it got to my turn, everything quenched
like fire.” I added, frowning seriously.
Everyone, including others away from her
desk, stared at me in silent awe. They were ostensibly astonished over my
strong use of words despite my apparent age. Probably, they couldn’t believe
that someone in my age bracket could publicly take control of suchlike English
grammar without minding the nature of my immediate environment.
I
was a staunch unionist cum one of the dedicated leaders of various societies on
campus such as the Nigerian Red Cross Society (NRCS), Amnesty International,
National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS), all of FUTO chapter, as well
as the Students’ Union Government (SUG) of the university. My unalloyed
affiliations to these groups helped tremendously to shape and reshape my
personality, social and moral wise. So, I could handle any crowd or gathering
without being trapped by any iota of intimidation.
Amidst the persons in the banking hall,
I could observe some showcasing their amazement over the level of confidence I
was parading myself with by dishing out dazzling smiles on their faces. The
reaction of this set of individuals motivated my vigour greatly, thus I thought
it wise to ride on with my outburst. “All that matters to me right now,” I continued
in a higher tone. “Is to see the manager.”
After the last tantrum, about three of the
bank’s Protocol officers in uniform walked towards me, and tenderly asked me to
calm down, promising that someone would come and address the issue immediately.
“I don’t want anyone again,” I shouted.
“All I want now is the manager.” I reiterated, gesticulating with my both arms.
“Calm down, sir.” Urged the male banker
who sat closely to the lady I was talking to. “Your problem will be solved
right now.” He reassured.
“Until I see the manager.” I reechoed, still
filled with the fury that emanated from the conversation I had outside with the
PhD student who was barely 21.
Before I could finish the last
sentence, a gorgeously-looking woman who seemed to be in her early forties
surfaced at the banking hall; I guessed she came out from one of the offices
within, hence, she had been overhearing me all along. “Young man,” she called
tenderly as she stepped towards me. “What is it?”
She
was clad in a white suit cum white trousers and classy hair style; light-skinned,
plump and about 5.45-foot tall.
“This must be the manager.” I thought
as I looked into her eyes. “Please ma, are you the manager?” I boldly enquired
in a jiffy.
She
smiled and smiled again, looked at me in admiration, as I stood aloof still
looking so frank.
Trust me, I was well-dressed. Aside my
indisputable level of vibrancy and outspokenness, I was invariably so mindful
of how I dressed each time I moved out, thus no one could find me wanting
fashion-wise even though I had few wears to boast of.
“Please, come with me.” She urged me,
gesticulating, turned and walked towards an office.
I
followed her. When we got to the office, she enjoined me to sit as she resumed
her seat. I sat on one of the chairs sited opposite hers. “You haven’t answered
me, ma.” I reminded. “Are you the manager?”
“Yes, I am.” she replied, nodding. “Are
you okay now?” She added.
I managed to smile, although still
saddened.
“What’s the problem?” she inquired in
false pretence.
I narrated every bit of the trouble to
her without minding that she had overheard everything when I was at the banking
hall. She apparently shared my pains, and pleaded with me to forget about
everything.
“Until I receive my money,” I said. “And
the interest attached to the inconveniences.”
It seemed as at this point, those I
left outside at the ATM domain – including the ‘PhD lady’ – were still over
there patiently awaiting the resuscitation of the machine.
The
Manager smiled. “Please, what’s your name?” she enquired.
“Fred.”
“What do you do?”
“I am a student.”
“Of which school?”
“FUTO.”
“Owerri?”
“Yes ma.”
“What level?’
“400.”
“Oh, you are already through!” She
exclaimed.
“I am studying a five-year course.” I
informed. “I just finished my six months IT.” I supplemented, paused. “I would
be rounding off by next year.”
“Alright.” She said, nodding. “What’s your
discipline?”
“Physics Electronics.”
She nodded in appreciation. “Fred, I like
you,” she eventually confessed. “I admire your smartness and courage.”
“Thank you, ma.” I said. “I appreciate.”
“So, how much do you intend to
withdraw?”
“Five thousand naira.”
“Alright.” she said. “Hope you wouldn’t
mind, how much do you have in the account?”
I laughed, never wished to disclose my
armpit. “Why do you ask, ma?”
“Please, tell me.” she replied, got her gaze
fixed on mine. “I have my reason.” She supplemented.
“Okay,” said I. “Twelve thousand naira.”
I answered hesitantly.
“Hmm…” she murmured. “Poor you.” She
teased.
“You can say that again, ma.”
“Well, I will add twenty thousand naira
to the account,” she pledged. “And as well give you five thousand naira cash.”
“Waoow..!” I exclaimed, stood up
elatedly. “Thank you, thank you ma.” I added.
“You are welcome, my dear.” She responded
cheerfully.
She further issued me her complimentary
card and enjoined me to feel free and call whenever the need be.
Beloved, that’s how my radicalism
brought glory to my humble name on that fateful day. Therein, I told myself ‘To
hell with PhD; money is everything’.
While leaving through the banking
hall, I grinned at the lady at the Customers’ Service whom I first walked up to
prior to the boss’ appearance, and she stylishly reciprocated. No doubt,
considering my countenance, she needn’t be told that the Manager had anointed me
right in her office.
The rest is history, please!
FDN Nwaozor
Executive
Director, Docfred Resource Clinic - Owerri
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