So during one of those recent episodes of writer’s block that I’ve been having, I reached out to one of the few blogging friends I have, those who have true appreciation for what they are doing. Not a bigwig going after advert revenue, or nonsensical exposes about who did what and who dumped who and which sewerage company is handling whose effluent; you know what I mean. She’s @ifehenia, or Ivy if you wish to advance to first-name-basis so quickly. She writes, and she writes true. I like her style, maybe because it’s slightly similar to mine. Here’s her blog for good measure, be the judge. Anyway, I asked her to do something small to break the norm of my ramblings here, and she did a random little nifty piece here. Take a look, and leave a comment or two (and visit her blog frequently, I know I do.)
While most writers suffer from writer’s block, I struggle with something much more interesting; everythingitis. This is when a whirlwind of ideas comes upon me and my fingers on the keyboard can’t keep up. Worse yet, my mind can’t profile these ideas and decide on which ones are blog-worthy… So I simply stop and breathe. Yes, that’s the story I am sticking to. It’s my excuse for infrequent blogging and it’s also my excuse for how jumbled up this post might seem to the average person anyone who is not me.
For the past week, I have been having a good hair day week. It’s only fair because for the longest time in high school I had a bad hair period-of-my-life and it was not pretty. I feel as if my pretty hair and I deserve to bask in this glorious moment for an extra week or so before it tangles and back we go to braids and what have you.
Prior to my good hair week, I spent a Thursday afternoon, not so long ago, on a bank queue at Barclays Bank- Queensway. I am not the world’s most patient person… truly speaking, I am highly impatient, with a tendency to snarl at people who make me queue, sit unattended at receptions, and stand aimlessly like a hooligan at Kencom, outside Archives or around Afya Centre. All the same, I was stuck on a bank queue for close to 3 hours. I wish I could say that some good came out of it… that my inner impatient demons somehow got exorcised… that I didn’t get agitated enough to chew bits of paper and pull out my hair… I wish I could, but I can’t. However, brilliant me found time in between snarling, impatient foot tapping and pulling out of hair to come up with a brief list of things to when suck in a Barclays Bank Queue (I am not yet sure if they are applicable to queues at other banks):
- Stare at the television screens. There are several, so strategically placed to ensure that you do not miss even a second of the three somber Visa Card adverts on repeat. One of the adverts has a lady with a pretty smile though…
- Boost your self-esteem. There are two ways to do this: check out everyone else’s phone and see how much better yours is. That used to work for me but unfortunately of late it just makes me feel sad. So, if you don’t sport that suave Nokia Lumia, S4 or iPhone, proceed to the second way of boosting your esteem: gaping wide-eyed at poor fashion sense. In that afternoon alone I counted more than 10 bad weaves, 3 skinny jeans, Supra-wearers, 5 color blockings gone wrong and A LOT of chipped nail polish. Not to mention the people wearing sunglasses indoors (Kanye swag and stuff) and the little Asian girl with the filthy sneakers (Is that a new trend?)
- Exasperate the guards by intentionally making the queue as skewed and as jumbled up as possible. Also make a point of calling them over every few minutes to demand that they make the queue to move along. When you spend close to 3 hours pacing around a small space it’s only natural that you seek to annoy the person you deem responsible.
- Mutter a lot… both to yourself and to the people around you about just how slow the tellers are.
- Play music sans earphones. This is especially annoying if you couple it with loud colors and loud hair. No, I am not as much of a sadist to do that yet but I have been on queues with such people.
- Wonder at the length of THAT guy’s dreadlocks then conclude that he is the perfect example of a modern day hippie. Proceed to wish that you were stuck in line behind him instead of between two middle aged women who keep sighing and shifting their weight from foot to foot. Wonder if he has a Jamaican accent… (It really bugs me that I’ll never know.)
- Tweet with reckless abandon and text everyone you know. You can hand twitter big sticks to the bank that you are queuing at via twitter. It’s good to let the world share in your pain so you should also text incessantly.
- Ask to see the Manager.
I hope this helps you as you queue to pay your rent at the end of the month or whenever else. It’s all in the name of good hair days. You should have seen how many agitated people had left clumps of hair on the floor of the banking hall.