I had lunch with a corporate lady the other day. By the way I think I’m on a roll here, two posts in one week. There’s a certain ka-feeling I get after I finish a piece, like there’s this glitter in my head, I feel like stripping down and dancing buck naked in the dark but the crowning glory is after I post-Wordpress has this thing that makes you feel like you’re a world renown writer after you post. These are the days in which the blocks have nothing on my ass, those things are just devils.
Back to the lady, Elizabeth is her name but that solely depends on where she is. During the chama meeting she’s Beth but in the office it’s Liz. She works in one of the mobile network companies, I’ve never been a fan of office thingy-s, an 8 to 5 job, it doesn’t get my goat but Liz wants to show me around, help me get my ducks in line because this camera thing has been my one and only plan since forever. I need options.
So she calls and tells me we should get together over lunch, the plan is to call her and tell her when I get to the office building. You won’t call her, she’ll call you; she’ll hang up and call you back instead because well, she’s in charge. She runs a tight ship and she’s the captain. (Remember that Somali character from that movie?)
“Just wait over there I’ll see you in a short while.”
I sit under a shade and start watching these people, the corporate guys, you can’t miss them anywhere, with their monstrous engines, the glitzy suits and- here’s my favourite part- the skirts. My God the skirts. Anyway the short while has turned to about 30 minutes but there’s nothing I can do, I can’t text her and tell her I’m leaving, she’s the wrong one to feed that bull-crap. I’m the always the needy one, sigh.
She finally shows up but she’s not alone, she has an IT guy tagging along, just in case she gets bored of your company she’ll leave you in the company of this chap. The building is quite swanky, the ones which you have to have a pass for every door you walk through, one of those company buildings that have a foreigner in charge, Mr. Singh or some other mainstream name like Shah. They have plasma screens in every corner which only show cricket because football has no place in the heart of Singh, it’s not his cup of chai. See what I did there with the tea thing? Along the walls are photos and paintings that don’t look cheap, they give you the impression that everyone here loves their job dearly, they do but the football fans, not so much. You got the tea joke right?
We talk while we have our lunch, and then that dreaded question that I’ve never known how to answer comes my way,
“So what do you want to do with your future?”
Eh Liz, some table manners please, we’re eating.
I got saved by Monica (not her real name) she’s really called Irene. She comes over to our table and sits with us. Irene is hilarious. Isn’t this what we all want, gentlemen? A good sense of humor? I like Irene. She’s cool.
Moving on, Liz shows me around the 6th floor where they take care of their customers. The people here look a bit stuck up and everyone is engrossed in their small laptops. She sees that this is not for me so she directs me to a lower floor where the IT guy works. His work is not easy although he makes it look fun, for a moment I want his job and then that thought is immediately brushed away when I see Irene walk graciously by. The guys in this section are all in jeans and sneakers, who wouldn’t want that? Liz and I settle that I would do well in PR, it’s worth a try. Can I have the desk next to Irene Mr. Singh?