SEE ME, SEE
WAHALA! (II)
(True-Life
Story)
As I was seated firmly in the chair at the
office where I had gone to confirm something, I hastily glanced at my wrist
watch again; it read 1:33pm.
Where I sat was the office of the
Secretary to the officer I was about to meet, and the young lady happened to be
the only one with me at the enclosed arena. I sat directly opposite her,
patiently awaiting when I would be ushered in.
The moment I dropped the call after my
conversation with Madam ‘Sandra’, she stylishly looked at me and therein
understood that all wasn’t well.
No doubt, even a dummy could figure
out the worries written all over my ‘ugly’ face. Acknowledging that the
so-called Sandra already knew my name and personal contact, I kept wondering
where she had culled such information from.
“Is she a relative that I am yet to
know?” I pondered, looked down.
I quickly crossed my legs. “Or, could
she be one of these sugar mummies?” I thought again, looked up.
This time, I was inadvertently
glancing at the building decking; it was a two-storey edifice but I was at the
ground floor.
“If she is truly a sugar mummy,” I
thought. “How come she knows all these about me?” I asked myself, returned my
head to the normal level.
“What is going on that I am yet to
know?” I thought once again, uncrossed my legs.
“Sir!” the secretary called, but I
couldn’t hear her owing to my thoughtful mood.
“Comrade, sir!!” she supplemented.
In the visitor’s note I filled, I
presented my name as ‘Comr. Fred Nwaozor’; I guessed, that should be where she
borrowed it.
“Yes dear.” I responded confusedly,
hurriedly rearranged myself.
It was at this point I recalled that
few seconds back, I sighted a guest walking out of the office; he was
supposedly the person that needed to leave before I could be allowed to move
in. I equally recollected that immediately after the guest’s departure, I
witnessed the corporately dressed secretary receiving a call from the office’s
intercom; perhaps the caller ought to be her boss. But the truth of the matter
remained that, I observed all the happenings in a subconscious mood.
“My boss wants to see you, sir.” She
politely informed.
“Okay,” I said, stood up pathetically.
“Thank you.” I added and headed for the boss’ office.
“Excuse me, sir.” She urged.
I stopped, looked at her.
“Hope everything is alright?” she
observed.
“Yes, my dear.” I gladly replied. “Just that
my day has been so stressful.”
“Okay.” She said, nodding.
“Thank you.” I appreciated, and
reignited the paused motion.
“You are welcome.” She responded as she
watched me walked towards the boss’ magnificent office.
After
having an extensive warmth discussion with the officer, I left the arena for a
nearby eatery to have my lunch. When I got to the joint, it was about 2:50pm;
that is, an hour and few minutes to the time I agreed to meet with Madam
‘Sandra’, which was 4:00pm.
I quickly ordered for a meal, never
wanted to waste a bit of my time in there since it was noted that I had to
cover a distance of about twenty minutes drive before I could find myself at ‘Blossom
Hot Spot’, the venue for the scheduled meeting.
When the waitress served the meal,
white rice and stew in separate plates coupled with bottled water, she as well
noticed that I seemed troubled. When she asked for a reminder as regards the
name of the drink I earlier requested, I couldn’t respond, thus it was obvious
that I was outside minded.
“Hello sir.” She called, intending to
bring back my spirit.
The call fell on deaf ears as I kept imagining
what my fate entailed in regard to the fast approaching August meeting.
“Hello sir!” she reiterated in a louder
tone.
“Oh, sorry!” I tendered, looking up to
her.
She apparently felt concerned. “Hope
all is well, sir?” she thought aloud.
“Yes,”
I said. “All is absolutely well.” I supplemented, smiling in false pretences.
“Okay,” she uttered. “Please, which
drink should I offer you?”
“Just get me a bottle of water?” I
demanded, yet to realize that the meal was already served with water.
The waitress stylishly smiled at my
ignorance that seemed comic.
How
would I know that bottled water was already lying right before me when all I
could think at the moment was what the agendum of the awaited meeting could be?
However, I instantly recalled that I had
earlier requested for a bottle of stout beer. “Please, forget about the drink.”
I enjoined.
“Okay sir.” She replied, turned and
walked away.
I guessed, she would live to remember
the melodrama I just displayed.
* * * * * *
When I arrived at Blossom Hot-Spot at
the stipulated time, I was ushered into the V.I.P’s corner by one of the female
attendants upon Madam Sandra’s request. As I walked in, I caught the sight of
her where she was seated all alone with just bottled water.
Before now, I had contacted one of my
buddies, John who resided in Abuja to alert him of the issue of the moment in
case if things eventually went wrongly, though that was in a lighter mood.
However, he took note of it and promised to watch my back.
“Please madam,” I uttered as soon as I was offered a seat. “How did you
know about me?”
“I got your name and mobile contact
from the hotel you lodged last night.” She notified immediately.
I was mute over the revelation.
“Are you okay now?” She verified.
I was still marvelled, thus couldn’t
utter a word.
“Please don’t bother going over there
to quarrel with the receptionist.” she enjoined. “Because I am the MD of the
hotel in question.”
“Really..?”
She nodded, smiling.
“So madam,” I said. “How may I be of
help?”
“Are you the Fred Nwaozor I know?”
“I wouldn’t know the one you know.”
“The one that writes for various
newspapers,” she replied. “And contributes to numerous radio and television
programmes?”
“I think I am.” I managed to
respond.
“Interesting,” she whispered. “So,
which drink do you care for?”
“Never mind,” I warmly replied. “I
am okay.”
“I want you to write a petition for
me.”
“A petition..?”
“Yes.”
“Against who?”
“A serving senator.” she answered
hesitantly. “I will pay you half a million naira.”
“I am sorry, madam.” I said. “I am
not a hungry writer.”
“Will one million naira be okay?” She
added, ignoring my response.
“I am
not interested, please.”
“Two million naira?” she insisted.
“I don’t think you understood me.” I told her.
“I don’t do such thing.”
She looked at me in silent awe, appeared
weird.
“I haven’t done it before.” I
notified. “And I wouldn’t start now because of money.”
“Okay, four million naira?”
“I am so sorry.” I persisted, stood
up. “You can try another person.” I suggested.
“Don’t tell me you want to remain a
poor writer?”
“I can’t remember telling you I am
poor.” I replied frankly while standing. “Did I?”
“But you are.” She presumed
unequivocally.
On
hearing the last clause, I hastily turned my back on her and dashed out of the
venue, and therein headed for the airport to board a flight back to Owerri.
The rest is history, please!
N.B:
Names of characters and localities mentioned in the story weren’t real, except
that of the author.
FDN Nwaozor
Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri
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