The Search for Mr Right (E1 – E12)

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2. E2: Just Another Monday

E1 - The Search For Mr. Right: Just Another Monday

Hi, there. I’m here again. The unrepentant spinster. Remember how my attempt to woo my future husband failed woefully at church yesterday? I bet you remember. Nobody forgets such disgrace. I should have told my mother about it seeing that I talked to her about everything, but I was just not in the mood to be lectured about how important it was to comport myself in a womanly fashion if I was to attract the human male. Exhausting, I tell you.

I told my kid sister though, and she couldn’t stop laughing. I had turned into a laughing stock in my own house.

“Tell me it’s a lie.” She said in disbelief.

“What part? The part where I told you I sent my future husband running? Or the part where I told you I ripped my dress while thanking God for your life?” I asked irritably.

She started laughing all over again. Hollering, actually. My baby sister is a wicked girl. I am not even exaggerating. My mum had her five years after I was born but she still managed to intimidate me. She is the queen of sarcasm and will never back down from a fight. Stephanie, or Nini, like she likes to be called is my complete opposite. I bet our mother would never need to hound her for a husband because she had a flock of men trailing her everywhere she went. That, plus the fact that I think she doesn’t ever want to get married. She is President of the Men Are Scum club. Though I wonder what experience she has had to be able to come to such a conclusion. The girl didn’t even start growing breasts till she was 16. At 21, there’s still nothing substantial on her chest. But what she lacked in breasts, she made up for in other things. More important things, I might add. She had the grace and confidence of the CEO of a multi-million-dollar company and the girl couldn’t even boast of more than 5,000 naira in her account. I don’t blame her though. She took after our father, in every way. She had his gait, his composure, his ability to command attention with his beautiful voice and the list of enviable qualities goes on and on and on. I was a replica of my mother. The only thing my father deemed fit to give me was his intimidating nose. I know, I don’t deserve such treatment. He gave all the good stuff to Stephanie. Instead, I was an insecure, always-afraid-of-the-future, overreacting, illogical, impulsive, blubbering mess. Like my mother. At least, I got her great looks. Yes, Stephanie looks like Dad too. Poetic justice.

I tried to get mad at her for laughing at my situation but I couldn’t help but join in the laughter. It truly was a pathetic story. Mama heard our laughter and came into the room, smiling.

“Wetin happen na? Make una gist me.” She said as she leaned on the wall of our bedroom. Steph was about to spill when I shot her my best imitation of a stink eye. The girl had zero emotional intelligence and will tell our mother of all my woes without a second thought. She looked at me and held her peace.

My mother noticed the hesitation. “Una no wan tell me? No problem.” As she made to leave, I felt a stab of guilt. Since our father died the year before, mother had become reliant on her two daughters for succor. Herself and my father used to be best friends and would talk far into the night about nothing and everything. As a child, I remember sleeping to the melody of their combined voices. My mother’s sweet, shy voice blended nicely with my father’s husky tone. Sometimes, he would throw in a loud laugh and she would giggle and I thought it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. Morning would come and I would hear them talking still. Which is why I never understood how my father could have kept his sickness a secret for so long. Hold on. My thoughts have wandered again.

I tried to go after her and divulge our secret but she had already left the house. I felt guilty all over again and then decided to talk to her when she got back. But I was getting late for work.

I work in the customer service department of a firm in the heart of Lagos. Although I studied something totally different, I still managed to do the job well. Yes, my country changes destinies. That is why I took the first job the came my way. At least, getting paid monthly beats not getting paid at all. Some of my friends considered me lucky, others just considered me fortunate enough to have a rich uncle who just happened to own a big company in Lagos. It’s not my fault. Blame him for his resourcefulness and his excellent business strategies.

My job is not in the least bit exciting. Sometimes, I have to talk to angry descendants of the devil. Other times, I even get to speak to the devil himself. After concluding that a vast majority of my Nigerian people were an angry lot, I lived better and it didn’t hurt so much anymore when someone told me I must be mad for refusing to refund his money over the phone. Great times.

Lagos is a jungle. But on Mondays, all the animals in the jungle are injected with steroids. So, it’s a crazy jungle on Mondays. Mondays scared me to no end and I always wished it was over even before it started. It was that bad. Some of my colleagues at work made it a point of duty to remind me that I had no right to complain of the Lagos situation because I got to ride a car to work every day. It was my father’s car. A beat-up Camry. What they failed to realize is the fact that although I was in the comfort of my own vehicle, I was not exempt from the madness of the state. One time, a man who had his entire family in his car bashed my car from behind, reversed before I could come down to inspect the damage, and drove off while giving me the middle finger. Like I had caused the crash. Right in front of his children.

I didn’t have my sister’s intimidating nature. My voice was so tiny, some might even describe it as shrill. Therefore, I was always the victim of my clashes with Lagos drivers. I didn’t have enough grit to insist that my car be fixed anytime it was bashed. I always ended up apologetic for their own mistakes. I spent almost a quarter of my salary every month repairing one thing or the other. My father’s car was literally in parts, glued together by faith and whatever the mechanics use. Enough of my ramble. I tend to wander off in my thoughts a lot. As you must have noticed.

You know how my mother has recently told me to be on the lookout for Mr. Right, right? Good. It’s driving me crazy. Everywhere I turn, there’s a potential husband staring at me. In the church, in the market, at the fuel station, pharmacy, in the supermarket, and the worst place of all, at WORK! See, I work in a tech company. That’s all you need to know to know that there are a lot of guys at my workplace. It’s almost ridiculous. But understandable. Everybody wants to work in tech. More guys than girls. Great. But there is a problem when all the guys look like mini Idris Elbas. I am not even exaggerating. The few girls there have their nose so deep into coding, bug fixes, and what-nots, that they were starting to look like the guys too. Everywhere I turned, there was a black beautiful man, holding a MacBook and drinking coffee. It’s like a starter pack or something.

Then there’s my supervisor. I have to mention him separately because he’s not like the rest. He has none of the boyish charm that the coders have. He doesn’t need to wear nerd glasses or attach his laptop to his palm to look extra smart. He also didn’t wear boyish shorts and ridiculously expensive tees to work. No, this one is a man. That’s exactly why he is my target. He’s the one I’m going to marry. Although, I’m not exactly sure how that is going to happen since he has never spoken more than four words to me since I started working here. But I know it’s going to happen. With enough prayers and the right amount of feminine wiles. Not that I have any. But I’ll have my mother teach me.

“Ehi, Mr. Sam wants to see you.” My colleague informed me. I guess we were both thinking about each other. The Lord works in very mysterious ways. I prepared to leave for my husband’s office. Not without smoothening my already ironed shirt and fluffing my old weave that was begging to be sent to weave heaven. Something that was never going to happen. Long life and prosperity, my dear. I also took the liberty to carry a cup of coffee along. You know, I need to show how caring and attentive I could be.

I walked into his office and I wished I could walk back out. You see, his office was not closed, and right as I stepped in front of it, eight pairs of eyes turned to look at me. I guess he didn’t call for a heart-to-heart chat.

“Ms. Lauretta, welcome. We were waiting for you. Get a seat and let’s go straight to business.” He said after glancing up for half of a nanosecond. “Please leave your coffee outside. No eating or drinking during meetings.”

Fantastic. Not only did I come late, but I also managed to look like a fool too. I couldn’t tell him I brought the coffee for him. I had no idea how he would take it and I was not ready to find out in front of eight strange coworkers.

“So, you must be wondering why you are here. Well, the eight of you are our new intakes. For the past month, you have been working in this company, in different departments. Am I right?”

“Yes sir.” We chorused while I wondered what the meeting was about. Were we getting fired already?

The Sacrificial Lamb And The Wish Bank

“Unknown to you all, you have been under very watchful eyes. Watching your every step, every move, every conversation. Basically, you’ve been on probation. Do you understand?”

Now, there was silence. Are these people serious? I wanted to be mad, but all I could think about at that point was the many times I flouted the company’s rules. Many times I hung up on a customer and pretended it was bad service. Or the times I smuggled sachets of Peak Milk from the lunchroom inside my bag. Or how many reports I submitted late. These people had to be kidding me. Were they going to fire me?

“Ms. Lauretta Omorodion, you’re in Customer Service, right?” Now, he was talking to me. What will my mother say? When I imagined him calling my full name, I didn’t imagine it would be because he wanted to fire me. We were supposed to be on the altar, exchanging our vows.

“Yes sir.” I gulped. Was I going to be fired in front of these people? Maybe the corporate world was just not for me. Maybe I’ll join my mother in the market. We could sell her chickens together. We could go digital, sell chickens online. Export them to Antarctica. We could have a chicken empire. Name it Chicken4U or something. We’ll be global. I don’t need this job. I could…

“Ms. Lauretta? Are you with us?” Turns out I had zoned out. Again. Will the embarrassment ever end?

“I’m here, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Well, your report here looks okay. You flouted some rules, took some things that weren’t yours to take…” At this point, he looked up slowly with a sly smile on his face and I couldn’t have wished for a quicker death. “…but there’s nothing serious, just standard indiscretions. You still meet the mark, though. Congratulations. You’re welcome to the company.” He stretched out his hands for a handshake, and I felt the relief wash through my soul. By the way, his hands felt like butter, soft, and fluffy. And cold enough to send a shiver down my spine and a blush to my cheeks. I guess he noticed too because he gave me a tight-lipped smile afterward.

“You can leave now.” I was at the door when I heard, “And oh, stop hanging up on our customers. They are the reason why you have a salary. Plus, the Peak Milk is all yours. Take as much as you want. Call it a staff privilege.” And then he smirked.