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 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.
3 comments:
So, why do they steal the taps? Are they really that expensive on the black market, ama it's a jamaa trying to furnish his own crib?
Lol! That's fresh!
It's a poor mwananchi who's discovered how to butter his bread. I hear they go for a bout 2k so maybe he sells them at 1k or 500/=.
Suspense there. I though something disastrous was going to happen, disastrous in an embarassing way. Phew!
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