Business unusual

Sleek: Once upon a time…
Children: Time…(all giggling excitedly)
Blogren: (Blank looks…reaching for their drinks…gulping them by the liter…)
Sleek: (undeterred by the Blogren…carrying on for the sake of the children of the world…) Once upon a time, a long long time ago (read last weekend), I went for a retreat in a far far away land so I missed BHH, which I am told was the bomb. Why? Why have a bomb when I am not there? Why? (holding back tears).

There were no elves in the far far away land. No ogres. No gremlins. No werewolves. No B2Bs. No mermaids. Yes, I was near the lake. But no mermaids…there were maids though, but they aren’t as good as mermaids. I would know. But I had a good time…and while all the other fake people I went with were having a ball, getting high on free alcohol, dancing to worldly music, playing pool, dipping in the pool, enjoying the sauna, gorging food with strange names, and making small talk…aaahhh, the small talk

SMALL TALK 1:
HE: Hi. Kyokka you are cute
SHE: (giggle giggle, tugs at her ponytail)…tell me something I do not know

SMALL TALK 2:
COMPANY CLOWN: What do you get when you cross a caterpillar and a chicken?
(Clown posse already smiling sheepishly like they know the answer)
POSSE IN UNION: Several drumsticks.
(laughter, laughter…some rolling on the floor, legs flaying in the air, some hunched over grabbing their stomachs like the spicy food they ate may pour out, moron slapping me on my back as he laughs his kidney out, guy in the corner carefully pocketing Hotel cutlery)
COMPANY CLOWN: (Nudging me)…Get it? A chicken with many legs so more drumsticks…
ME: Dude, touch me again and I’ll pull your teeth out, yes, even that fake gold tooth, and make them bite your ass…(writing this, I wonder why I didn’t say it..)

Yes, while they were all doing all the ball-having, I was scribbling away furiously in me notebook. I had a post to write. I wasn’t going to let the ‘come hither’ eyes SHE was giving me de-focus me, or the enormous portions of great food, or the naked sauna companions…I had to keep writing. Even when it got harder, and the lights got dimmer, and my roommate excused us to give us space, and she turned off the TV and she…I had to keep writing. Even when she closed in…I almost kept writing. I tried. The will was there, the hand failed. My writing captured some writeshots, like snapshots, for you:

Writeshot 1: I saw g-nuts being sold in a bar. Reveller walks into bar, basket held high above the sweaty dancers, occasionally stopping long enough for a dancer to use her hands to wipe the sweat off her brow and then fish for a coin or two to pay for the g-nuts…then she’d pop ‘em g-nuts while boogying with renewed energy. Popping ‘em g-nuts. I think that was what 50 Cent was singing about in ‘Popping ‘em things’. Boogy spinach: G-nuts.

Writeshot 2: I saw that towns away from Kampala also have a life. The club and bar I went to were packed with young, hip people. And the alcohol bees cheap. You know that song that hit early last year? Yes, it’s causing a frenzy in town-away-from-Kampala. It plays right after DJ says ‘Diss one it is new. Diss one. Diss one. I dedicate to Miss Cheri’

Writeshot 3: I learnt that company name sells. Got to the club and when company name was uttered, we were ushered in VIP style, no pay. We proceeded to a corner where we whiled the night away debating with some skimpily dressed damsels about the pros and cons of Fascism. After explaining what Fascism is, they caught on and gave very informed opinions, they surprised us.

Bald girl, big spects, bigger handbag: Fascism is very bad. Very bad.
Blonde girl, has grills: (nods sagely, speaks with a twang)…right on sister. (Lifts her glass, spills some of the drink.). It is not just bad, it is…it is…(thinks…thinks...)it is baddest.
Muscled girl, has lovely dress, has lisp and halting English: (Pointing at the drink she bought Joe)…You had better drink that.
Joe the wussy: (it’s either the spiked drink or a beat-down from Queen Kong here) I will drink it
Blonde girl with grills: Oh don’t be such a ****

And she reaches for the drink and gulps it all in one go. Then she smacks her lips. And Queen Kong smacks her face. And then we smell trouble…or blood; both actually. We straighten our suits and walk out of the club, leaving mayhem in our wake…