Queues are fun. The thick, rowdy ones are my favorite. The long, snaky ones come a close second. Seriously, what about the ones, which stall for no apparent reason? You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? You poor thing! Queues are like totally to-die-for. So much activity…so little time. I mean, where do I begin?
There’s this lot of persons that suddenly get cataracts at the queue. How else would you explain the ease with which they navigate all the aisles, and then miss the end of the queue? It’s right there SIR! See the cute girl picking her nose? That’s where the queue ends…or you know…begins in your case. You hadn’t seen it? What, you thought all these people were just waiting for the elephants?
Speaking of elephants…quite a few giganomous ones in my line of vision. Not to brag or anything, but my eyes fall just short of those 360s chameleons are so famous for. How else would you explain my total awareness of the guy in the checked shirt standing too close to my derriere? It’s a queue. I get it! We are supposed to stand behind each other. Don’t take it so seriously, man. Behind me does not mean against my behind! And please relax. This is not a game of tag. You do not have to move forward every time I do. We are not connected, you and I. I mean, we kind of are. What with our nether regions being so close together. So how about this? Not so close. Say it with me. Not. So. Close. OK. Good talk. I’m going to take a step now. Got it? One…two…Damn it!
“Do you use condoms?”
See what I mean about queues? What does it matter that we’re all strangers? We’re going to be here a while, why not get up close? It is not enough that the guy behind me is you know…BEHIND me. I have to answer personal questions too? Listen, I don’t care that you’re basically ogling the array of condoms. Really. I don’t. Do your thing man. Just leave me out of it.
“They’re really nice condoms.”
Oh boy. “Yes. I can see that.”
“So do you use condoms?”
Wtf dude-old-enough-to-be-my-father! “Haha…you’re a funny guy.”
“Well, do you?”
“Very good. Very good!”
Oh yeah. Totally awesome. Talking about it with you is just out-of-this-world, though. Would you like to know my favorite brand? Flavor? Color? I like neon. It glows in the dark. Much like your face. By the way, I notice you didn’t take any, you…you…unbelievably nosy person! Do not think for one second that I don’t know what you’re up to. You felt (needlessly) embarrassed that I caught you staring at condoms and you decided to project that embarrassment onto me! Listen man. Condoms are tiny bites of bliss. Like candy. Just grab and go. No big woof. See that toddler scooping all the candy his little hands can carry? He’s got the right idea. See his mother trying to put them back without starting World War III? Such a spoil sport. Take those little pleasures man.
Can someone show us a sneak peak of their awesome life? Wait! Someone already is! You know how pictures capture a moment and you look at it and piece the moment together? I’m looking at one right now. This guy cannot keep his hands off her. The whispers. The tiny kisses on her nape. The giggles. Wow. So kind of them. Letting us condom oglers live vicariously through them. Reminds me of that Coke advert…hot guy downing a Coke…girl staring…such thirst in her eyes…not for the Coke though, because she offers him another. Sometimes it’s just more fun to watch. Apparently.
Just two people ahead of me now. The Cape of Good Hope, at last. I totally get why they named it that! All those tired explorers. Jostled to the point of homesickness by perilous waters. Coming close to giving up many times. Wanting to give up. Except, giving up was not an option. Going back would have been suicidal. Literally. So they gritted their teeth and forged on. And at the Cape, good hope was replenished. Just like mine is. If I can just grit my teeth, while that lady checks the Mpesa paybill number for the 4th time. I mean, Jesus H Christ! 330010. Six digits. How hard can it be to get it right the first 3 times? She finally got it? Heaven should be so kind.
Next is condom guy. Then me. Hallelujah. The Angels in my head are a sound for sore ears. Last chance to pick the condoms…going once…going twice…not sold to the distinguished gentleman. Ah well. Some you win, some you lose.
There’s this thing with supermarket cashiers. They love that word. Say you picked an item not in your usual range of products. According to the commercials, Pantene is the shampoo your hair needs. Granted, it’s a little expensive, but your hair is your crown. You must unlock the potential in those locks. Just like it says on TV. So this time you take Pantene. It refuses to give you peace. Every time you look in your trolley…there it is taunting you. Seriously, these are like 2 packs of farmers’ choice sausages! But your nerves are made of steel – you shall not be cowed by such trivial considerations as price. Then you get to the till and watch the numbers rise steadily. It’s quick. Not at all like the IEBC process. No time at all to get apprehensive. You save the Pantene for last. The cashier runs it. 1800! That’s like 3 packs of sausages!
“No. Remove that.”
Yeah. They have to announce to everybody that you’ve changed your mind about Pantene!
The guy with the password waves. He has to swipe his card at two other tills before he gets to you. He finally saunters over. The guy with the password must walk like the guy with the password. Take your time darling. You are in no danger of having your head bitten off. None, whatsoever.
If you’re lucky, a quick swipe will fix the problem. If you’re unlucky, a quick fix will elude. The guy with the password will remain hunched over the other guy. They’ll keep whispering and typing and swiping. You’ll shift your weight from foot to foot. Eyeballing them with the full force of your impatience. You will get zilch, in way of explanation. None of that Nakumatt professionalism here; “Sorry, we’re experiencing a slight technical hitch.” Oh no. You will stand there and use your eyes until we’re ready for you.
Anyway, back to matters present. The gentleman leaves behind a copy of True Love. He must have done the math. “What? That’s like 2 packs of condoms! No way. I mean, who needs True Love?” Hahaha.
My turn. Finally.
There is a God!
Nail cutter. Nail file. Nail polish. Remover. Cotton wool.
What? I have really bad nails. I used to bite them. Then I stopped. I wish I hadn’t. At least then, I had a perfectly good explanation for my bad nails. Now, I have to talk about calcium deficiency. I mean. Give a woman a break! At least I’m making an effort. Besides, I survived the queue and I totally kept my cool. A pat on the back would be nice.
What do I have to do around here? Eat githeri ?