There’s nothing welcoming in the office except the chiseled smile of the secretary. She looks at you with little or no interest. On second thought why should she? I mean you’re several thousand miles from coming anywhere close to a George Clooney. It’s not that she feels like smiling; No! She probably had to smile. I’m not saying it (smiling) is part of the job. Maybe it is. But I can tell you I’ve come across many in that particular position whose facial muscles are so tight and ‘coiled’ (at least some of them) you might need the expertise of a plastic surgeon to make them elastic enough to wear smiles.
Look who’s talking. I can tell you that a few of my friends would say “I can’t believe you’re saying that! Even the best plastic surgeon in the business would find it hard to bring the dimmest sign of a smile on your face!” Look, some prelude or something to my bio or anything like that. I’m just trying to be a nice guy to tell those pretty ladies sweet smiles mean more than all the ‘foundation’ or whatever you call those solutions you apply to your faces. Once a close friend who now resides across the Atlantic showed me her dressing room and table, there were so many small, medium and somewhat larger bottles of every color you can imagine I had to ask, “You mean you use all these!”
She laughed, probably at my ‘stupidity!’ There’re many in boxes and elsewhere because I don’t have enough space on this dressing table!” What! The lady has what looks like a small ‘pharmacy’ warehouse and what the hell is this talk about not having enough space! Of course the nice guy I was I never asked. People go quite long ways to impress others, don’t we? But then what difference does it make? Hey, I don’t feel comfortable saying this, we can’t tell which pretty lady who used five items and which one used fifteen? So if you think you’re making any impression on us consider yourself down and out. Many just don’t care!
While we’re at it let me tell you a tiny story. Once I was sort of introduced to a famous actress. We knew each other by sight and bumped heads, sort of to say, many times; but we never greeted each other. And this one looked like it was just another “How are you?” “Nice to meet you…” and all those greetings clichés. Then someone asks; “You two never say hello to each other?” That’s when she dropped the bombshell; at least for me it was that and nothing else. “I’m scared of him!” What! That was the first time any one describes me as ‘scary’, uninteresting, boring, dull and all the synonyms I can understand. But, ‘scary!’ No way! So all this time she was not seeing me as “A nice looking fellow;” or “I should one day talk to him..” or anything like that. I had been her Dracula, Frankenstein and ‘The Yorkshire Ripper’ rolled into one. I might even have caused her nightmares! We don’t really know how people think of us, do we? You think you’re some shining star and when you find out no one even gives you a second look, believe me, you’ll end up a complete wreck!
About that “I’m scared of him…” ‘revelation,’ you can’t help it but some memories which you never knew you even had resurfaced. “Me, the very guy who thought of himself as the Prince Charming of half the town am scary!” Thinking that in itself is scary! You roll back time to those high school days and suddenly remember you were thought as a female-hating extrovert. The fact was you didn’t hate them! No way! They are the ones who made sure that at least there is a quarter of a kilometer between them and you! You always thought some enemy of your family had cast a spell on you; or the more witty guys had beaten you to the chase! Poor you! Now you know; they were scared of you! All your amorous advances used to fall on the wayside because they were scared of you!
The rainy season has set in. And I’ll tell you why some of my friends think I’m one of the weirdest creatures walking upright. The rainy months are my best times of the year. How about that? Me, a died-in-the-wool city guy who knew nothing about the real, existential importance of the rains especially in the countryside professing love for the rainy season?
“How is the weather?”
“It’s nice.”
“What’s the matter with you? How can you call this weather nice?”
And all of a sudden you’re a pariah. Opinions are suggested, confirmed and
emblazoned in stone. (Maybe that’s how the “I’m scared of him!” came about. I’ve to ask her someday.) So, unless someone comes with some findings declaring those who like the rainy season are mental case who should always be under the watchful eyes of some psychiatrist, I’ll continue hugging the rainy season. In fact, now I suspect there would be some smirks, in the evenings I like wrapping myself in gabbi! Ha! I told you there’d be smirks. Well that’s one sure way of fighting away the chill which comes when I watch my PL league being pummeled by one of our most bitter rivals. Did you notice that? I just said “…our bitter rivals…” not “…their bitter rivals.” That is what you love about football. You don’t care who actually owns the team, because you own it!
So if you think my words are any good try wrapping yourself in a good thick gabbi and you’d know what I mean, even if your team isn’t beaten black and blue! Scary! And probably when a couple of pretty ladies rested their eyes a little longer than one would have thought normal I must have been thinking, “There must be something about me speeding up their heartbeats! Three cheers for me!” Now, after that actress’s “I’m scared of him,” uppercut punch I know the reason. Their heartbeats speeded up because they were scared of me!
Could anyone be any nicer than admitting that you might, just might be a scary guy!
The Ethiopian Herald June 26/2022