Living life: The Trouble with Beeping

I am not a whiner or so I would like you to think but with all the post-Christmas financial stress biting hard, someone who somehow believes that because one uninteresting day we met, chatted about football and the weather, out of boredom, exchanged numbers, decides to call. Oh, before I pick, the fellow decides that he actually doesn’t like me that much, would rather call someone else, or does not have enough airtime, decides to cut the call. Here I am, in the middle of a business meeting with a high profile client, the kind that can change the fortunes of a company, trying to strike a deal that could instantly earn a promotion. In the midst of it all, this annoying ring tone blares away. The boss gives you a piercing “what-do-you-think-you-are-doing-with-that-phone-on,” look followed by another “what-stupid-ring tone-is-that” before he gives the client another, “never mind, these young people of today have no manners.” You want to kill the fellow on the other side of the call and at the same time wring the neck of whoever put that Nonini song you like when you are drunk, as your ring tone. Imagine a song which begins with “Dunia nzima hakuma manzi kama wa Nairobi (in the whole world they are no women like those of Nairobi) ringing loud in the middle of a business meeting, and you begin to understand my plight! Whether there is some truth in the song or not, am not saying. I put the phone into silence and pretend to be unembarrassed by the incidence, but the fellow is apparently not finished yet. He continues to play a beeping game with me and the phone in the partially dark room, lights up like a Christmas tree in my shirt pocket and draws more blank stares my way. I pretend to be just as disgusted as everyone and pull the phone out after the fourth flash, excuse myself and walk out, breathing fire. When I check, behold, it displays ‘no number’. So here I am, red with anger, ready to beat up Mike Tyson and I suddenly realise that the fellow, for all his intentions, has a number whose call identity is restricted. I gather myself, get back inside; place my phone on the conference table. I reorganise my tie and continue the deal cutting. Just then the vibrating phone makes a screeching sound on the huge mahogany table, startling everyone into a brief shock before they see it is nothing dangerous but just another beep. My enraged boss orders me out of the meeting. This time, the missed call has a phone number. I promise myself to beat whoever is at the end of this one into pulp, never mind I cannot see or touch them. My heart pounds away and after the second ring someone picks. “Hallo” a creaky old voice answers “Who are you” I shout out. “You tell me first, you ******. My grandson does not speak rudely to me like that.” The voice continues, “If you have stolen his phone I am going to make sure that the local witchdoctor sends all your children, your chicken and your goats a painful rash…” I recognise my folly and try to make amends. “Grandmother, am sorry, it’s just that….never mind.” Contact: kelviod@yahoo.com