Of Drycleaners and Attendants

Let me tell you that right now, drycleaners are the very bane of my existence. Well that was true until a few short minutes ago. Let me explain. It begun on Saturday afternoon when I thought it would be a good idea to take just about all my suits for cleaning at the drycleaners at the local shopping center. They do a generally good job, save for the seemingly excessive quantities of chemicals they pour into the clothes … they could almost make your eyes tear! This was such a big step up from the place I used to dryclean in the CBD where clothes would come out reeking of sweat after cleaning. My pal joked about this saying that maybe they also ran a clothes hire business. What we won’t do to save a shilling!

But I digress. They told me that I could go for the clothes the next day. So on the Sunday of the infamous countrywide blackout (dark Sunday?) I go for them during said black out just to find the shop closed. I chalk that off to their not thinking that guys would come for their clad in the dark. No biggie.

Enter Monday evening when I make a stop over on my way home to pick the suits. “Madam pole sana,” I’m told “Lakini hazijakua tayari.” (“Sorry lady but they’re not ready”). I’m put off and disappointed since I only have the reject suits for the next day that I was just about to give out to charity. I would have preferred not to wear those but what to do? In my head, I quickly think that the blackout must have stalled the cleaning process and sigh heavily. It does not however help me put my mind at ease that the guy attending me keeps insisting that I must have taken the clothes for cleaning late on Sunday and that’s why they are not ready. *Sigh*

It’s Tuesday and I’ve had a disappointing and difficult day. All I want to do is curl up in bed with my novel while listening to relaxing music. For lack of anything to wear the next day, I pass by the cleaners thinking it just a quick stop. So the attendant picks my receipt and goes to the back to look for the clothes. Minutes tick on and on. And on, and on, and on. Trying very hard not to get worked up, I ask another attendant to find out why it’s taking so long. After a minute, Attendant No. 2 comes out and informs me that my clothes were mistakenly taken to another branch. I want to cry. Turns out that the other branch gets its clothes cleaned from this outlet and their overzealous or just daft employee picked my clothes with the rest. I really have no fight left in me. Almost as bad as the news of the missing clothes, is the fact that Attendant No. 1 kept me waiting unnecessarily long for bad news and didn’t even have the decency to face me in person but sent a minion!

Wednesday just starts off awfully coz I feel I look bad in a strange suit. I try to greatly minimize movement away from my desk so as not to be seen (this of course turns out to be the day when my bosses want to send me on excursions in the most unlikely of places (Murphy’s Law)). During my rounds, I confide my drycleaner troubles to a pal who clearly does NOT know how to help. He tells me that I’m unlikely to get my clothes back and reminisces about the time when his pants were lost by the cleaners. He says that they told him just what they were telling me until they finally admitted the loss. Not one to take his property lightly, he made a big deal out of the whole thing and finally managed to get compensation. Joy.

Evening comes and I slink off to the cleaners all along hoping that this will be the last time I’ll ever have to go there again. “Ah madam … ni wewe” I’m told by yesterdays Attendant No. 1. “Sasa … hizo nguo hazijakuja bado.” (So, it’s you? Your clothes aren’t back yet”). This time I don’t hold back. I throw the book together with a dictionary and the encyclopedia Britannica at them for good measure. I explain, in no calm tones, that I have nothing to wear the following day and that it is not reasonable to keep someone waiting for such a long time. They assure me that the clothes will be there within the hour since the offending branch has sent someone to deliver them. We agree that I’m to come back in an hour’s time when I’m assured the clothes will have arrived. Thoughts of reporting the matter to the cops as theft flash through my mind but I wait.

So yes that’s where I’m from and I did manage to get the clad. They seem well done to me and I’m primarily relived that my pal’s prediction did not come to pass. As I left, the attendants gave me a little lecture about how to err is human and I shouldn’t get annoyed when all can be so easily rectified. Oi! It would be a wonder if they ever got a whiff of my money again!

Of Singers and Not

So the other day I was on my way to work. I grapple with public transport so I got into a mat and sat restlessly wondering if we’d ever get to town. I like public transport in so far as it affords me an opportunity to read books while in transit since I’m just a book buff (if there is any such thing). Anyway I had finished my previous book just the day before and didn’t have much to do. I remembered that my phone was one of those that store music and figured that that was what would entertain me on this journey.

I took out my earphones and went about untangling them, happy that I had found something to do. As if inspired by my actions, the young, prim, important-looking lady next to me in a hip hair style and a power suit did the same. I really had no problem with her other than to think in a childish voice in my head ‘copy-cat’. I listened to my selection of music and all was well with the world - until the girl next to me starts singing.

Take a step back in order as to better understand the situation. This is an junk of a nissan (late risers can’t be choosers) and therefore has no music. Those without today’s state-of-the-art telephones (but do I say) are left to listen to the chugging of the exhaust pipe and rattling of window panes for entertainment. Enter Chick-D who thinks that the only reason she’s not Céline Dion is that she was born in the wrong continent. And it would most certainly have helped if her voice was in the same category as Céline’s … or Mary J’s … or even the mama of ‘Nipe Shilingi’ fame (whatever happened to her?). But that was not the case. She reminded me of that guy in Idols who during the auditions sang an own composition that went “I really really love my mom …”! I mean, she would have made that ever so mild Tanzanian judge on Tusker Project Fame II (Dan Kiondo) pull an Ian and maybe call her a ‘twit’! If your not with me, let me just break it down and say that her voice was really really not good (politically correct).

And then the chick picks up momentum as she steadily manages to ignore all the curios glances she’s getting from the whole mat. At some point, she’s singing along to a spirited Jang’o Christian song and I seriously feel that it’s all she can do to keep herself from waking up and dancing.

People! Do some among us not grow up with siblings who bully away all inclination we ever had to sing along to anything playing on our walkmans/radios? Do we not have friends (for some of those TPF and Idols contenders) who tell us that we just can’t sing? Do our dogs not growl in agony as we pretend to be Barry White in the shower? Je huu ni ungwana?

Of King and Loos

Heh! Now let me give you the story of the day that transpired just a few minutes ago. I was sitting right here at this comp not 30 minutes ago when I felt the urge to go for a long call (heavy lunch). The office is housed on the 7th floor of our building and the loos are near the entrance at each wing. We had recently suffered a spate of stolen taps and the management has not been happy with us.

Of course these thoughts couldn’t have been further from my mind. I went about my business beginning with the wiping of toilet seat and placing of tissue around it and proceeding with what comes naturally. As I was in the stall, I was briefly aware of the opening of the main door into the loos and some activity. I didn’t think much about it at first but something about the movements; perhaps the length of time during which they proceeded in a seemingly haphazard way, got my attention. My attention was only held momentarily, though, as my mind zoomed to the King (Stephen King) that I’m now reading. I’ll put it this way: right now my job and life generally are just getting in the way of when I can finally get back to my book. It’s a creepy story about cell phones and the part they could play in Armageddon should someone trigger them. The part I was at on my lunch break had to do with the protagonists being crept up on by the bad guys and wondering what to do next. From here, my mind automatically switched to a book I’ve had in the works that is inspired by King in content and which has something to do with a young lady stuck alone on the 7th floor of a building when things start getting spooky. I briefly wonder how I’ll carry the story forth then quickly switch my attention back to the person making strange noises outside. What if it’s a boogeyman of sorts? What if they’re doing something they don’t want me knowing about and upon my emergence they grab me and jump out the window with my last site on earth being their face? (At this point I remember thinking that that would be rather unfortunate as I would rather go face down). I drummed my feet on the floor, partly to shake these thoughts out of my head and partly to let the person of strange loo habits know that they were not alone in case they were doing something untoward like stripping.

Anyway, I think I’ve been particularly slow minded (politically correct for dim witted) today since I got to bed jana late after watching the match and haggling with a cab driver (story for another day). Well I heard what sounded like a hanger drop then soon thereafter water started to flow. Except that it didn’t sound like water in a sink but in a shower. The door opens and closes. And that is when (finally) the pieces started to fall together. Could it be that the phantom of the disappearing taps had visited our floor again? I got out of the cubicle and regarded the scene before me with the dumb look of surprise. The Phantom had indeed come back and this time gotten away with 1 of the 2 precious taps.

Well now I wait to be questioned by the building’s security on what I might have seen. What if I’d gotten out of the cubicle and met this person face to face in the act of removing a tap? Would they have attacked me? Would I have had the good sense to cry out for help? Would my voice have abandoned me as happens to many of King’s protagonists? I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.

Of Demeanors and Smugness

So the other day I was on my way home after a hard day’s work when I chanced upon some kids who seemed to be collecting money for some charity or other. I have always thought that a rather harsh way of collecting money for a good cause: sending out primary school kids to stalk strangers and beg for money while quickly and almost always inarticulately explaining what it was for. I thought that if I were the Minister for Education, I would not permit such activities to be sanctioned by Kenyan schools. I wondered what the charity would be. A new school fence? A new school bus? Assisting needy students? As all this went through my mind, the kids I was expecting to accost me for money looked at me and at the young lady who was walking astride me on the other side of the street, and quickly crossed over to pester her for money.

I felt as though I had been slapped. “What …. How … Where” I asked myself. How dare they! In a split second, they had concluded that they had more chances in getting money out of her than me! The audacity of some people (young though they may be)! Granted, I may not necessarily have parted with some cash … but I could have been convinced.

On cooling off and losing my sense of indignation I wondered what it is that had brought them to their conclusion. I have been told that I at times carry a headmistress’ severe expression on my face when I walk alone, deep in thought. Could that have been it? Or maybe it was the fact that I was dressed in a boring dark suit and she was dressed in a young-hip way? Could it possibly be they thought her younger or prettier? Maybe they just preferred her hairstyle!

Does the way you carry yourself say something about you that you’re not aware of? Where my demeanor seems to say ‘You better leave me the hell alone’, what does yours say? Are you inviting (like my pal who keeps getting countless marriage proposals from seemingly serious men) or foreboding? Friendly or curt? And does your ‘look’ say it to everyone or just a few (in my case the young and innocent)?

I went off pondering these thoughts. I was however glad to note, from the corner of my eye, that the girl across the street had declined to invest in their noble cause and couldn’t help but smile to myself, smug as I thought ‘serves you right!’

Of M-Pesa and Service Provision

For all the simplicity using Safaricom’s M-Pesa is meant to provide, I’ve had a rather hard time at it. I’ve always noticed long queues at various M-pesa agent points and so thought that I’d be better off giving it a wide berth. However, yesterday I needed to send money and therefore decided to give it a shot. Besides, all their adverts made it sound like the best thing since sliced bread.

I went to Mama Ngina Street and at the first agent I tried, I was rudely told that the person dealing with that service had walked out and I could wait. Feeling that our liberalized capitalist society should not allow for such responses, I quickly moved on to the next one. Here, they really went out of their way in their bid to make me feel unimportant. I was the only person there for that service but they had me wait as the staff finished off what must have been a very juicy story even after my request for service. When I finally got their attention, I told the lady serving me that I had never used the service before and had no idea how it worked. In a manner that made me feel like I was wasting her time, she took down the necessary details and sent the money. I was a little put out as I was hoping for an enlightening discussion. She informed me that I couldn’t register for the service as the Safaricom system was down (which is something I hear all too often from complaining customers) and asked that I try again later.

So here I am no more informed than I was before I visited the outlets. I haven’t gone back to register lest I disturb the agents in their all important story telling sessions.

What’s so complicated about the concept of customers being important? Why is it so difficult to get good service in this country? If I don’t spend much or indeed anything today, why not just be courteous and hope I come back tomorrow now that I know what’s on offer? That’s just service provision at this corner of the globe!

Of Fruits and Making a Point

So the other day I was heading home after a hard day’s work and thought it would be a good idea to get some fruits on my way. I stopped by a kiosk that’s on the way and had a craving for apple mangoes since their season was just about to end. I felt around searching for good ones and couldn’t seem to find any. The kiosk operator (if you’ll let me call him that) was eyeing me in a way that made me wonder if he was wishing me away; I seemed to have interrupted his meal. Being a believer in the adage “he who does not work should not eat”, I asked for his help in choosing ripe fruits. He begrudgingly came over and handed me quite a number of fruits which were, to me, unsatisfactory for one reason or the other. I told him as much and said resignedly that that was certainly not my lucky day, as I made to leave.

“Yaani hununui? (you mean to say that you’re not buying any?)” he asked with an incredulous look on his face.
“Lakini sijapata, (but I haven’t gotten any good ones)” I replied.
“Wewe fanya hivi, (you do this)” he said, obviously very put off. “Hii duka, usiwahi kurudi hapa kununua kitu tena. Umesikia? (don’t you ever come back to this shop. Do I make myself clear?) ”
My shock was palpable. It however very quickly gave way to amusement and quite in spite of myself and in spite of the fact that I didn’t want to make the poor guy feel any worse, I burst out laughing.

You need to understand that I’m the kind of person who keeps grudges against non-performing service providers. On some day a million years ago, a certain tout in a matatu refused to give me my change and I all but swore to myself that I would never get into that vehicle again. More than that I was determined to cause a scene when I’d be with a group of people who I would convince to take another vehicle because those were thieves (lame I know). I never went back to a certain chain of stores because their staff was rude to me. I never purchased anything from a particular outlet after the goods they sold me proved to be of inferior quality. That’s just me.

So for this trader to tell me what he did made me realize that it may at times seem silly to take such stands as though the world were just black and white. It may at times be useful to factor in the greys … and the reds, greens and violets. Take a step away from your usual way of viewing things today and give someone a chance.

(For the record, I haven’t been to that stall since. With the competition blossoming at every corner, his wish is my command! The customer is always right!) (Just like me to give with one hand and take with the other. Consider it broad mindedness?)

Of Unhappy Employees and Turnovers

Today I started my driving classes. I know, I know it’s way way long over due. You see when I was younger, I figured that since there was no vehicle to practice on, there was really no point in getting a DL. And up to some point I think I was right since I witnessed so many of my pals doing the classes over and over again as they kept forgetting for lack of practice. But now I most certainly wish I hadn’t had all that foresight. Where’s the time to spend in front of painted planks termed model towns playing with toy cars? Well I’ve been forced to create the time and study with guys who are whole decades younger than me.

Today was my first class and the thing that struck me most from it is that the school’s owner is a tough employer. It first became apparent during my theory class when my teacher, a guy who sounded very experienced in his field and with an easily understandable teaching approach, kept being called every so often to run strange errands for his boss including at one point something that had to do with a bucket and water. What went through my mind is why interrupt paying students’ classes to get errands done? Secondly I thought that the guy was either a very special cleaner or a misused trainer.

I then went off on my practical and, being day one, it involved a lot of talking. Somehow, the conversation managed to find itself maneuvered into territories of difficult employers and my instructor had a litany of tales to tell. Not wanting to interrupt him, we managed to get in some 20 minutes or so of relevant talk and 40 minutes of employer bashing.

This train of thought leads me to a lady I know who just cannot keep a house help. She had a good albeit woebegone one who stayed for quite a while. She left for unfortunate reasons and since then, the turnover has been much like that of the stock exchange (I’d really love to understand what exactly that is). New one come today and gone tomorrow. I think she follows them around bickering about all they do wrong (which to her is all they do) and then chases them away in anguish.

Well this being the month that begins with a worker’s holiday, let us try and be charitable to our employees.