True Life Story.....

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So I met this girl sometime last month. At GT Bank ATM.
She just walked in and met the long queue—like a giant millipede we curved out to the road.
I saw her wilt, that automatic tired face you make when you just want to breeze in and take some cash and then you are greeted with this ugly-looking train of straight-faced people.
Nothing quite more dispiriting.
She came closer and asked if I was the last person. I said yes. I have shifted for her to stand behind me when she said this stupid thing. Had she not been pretty I would have hissed openly at her. But you know that patience afforded by being beautiful, what it does to men. In the attraction, you will smile when you are supposed to frown, burst open in laughter when you only could have just smiled. Quite inexplicable.
She’d said, in pleading voice though, ‘Please can you help me beg the next person to allow me?’
I looked at her.Is she ok?In fact, even on her face I saw this was something she was experienced at doing–getting guys to do chores for her.Fine girls sef.But today her luck had run out because when fine girl jam fine boy, the bed suffers.
Ok, fine, I made that up. And please stop glaring at me, I am a fine boy. Fine-boyish.
‘Madam, see that guy in yellow,’ – I was pointing— ‘he is the next person, go and talk to him yourself,’ I said.
She obviously caught the sarcasm, the way she curled her lips in a small, crooked smile. ‘Okay, please, the issue is that my sister and I are already running late. Where is the next closest bank around here?’
‘You have to bike to Bank Street. All the banks are there.’
‘Oh, no need of biking. We came with a car.’
That was when I looked and saw the shiny black Jeep parked off the road slightly ahead. Had I seen that machine before, I would have been nicer.
‘So can you direct me on how to locate the street?’ she asked.
‘Well, since you are mobile I can go with you in your car.’
‘Oh, better. Thanks a lot.’
She thanked me about twice as we walked to the car. Little did she know that I should be the one thanking her. If not that I had just N60 in my pocket I would have since gone to Bank Street myself and made my withdrawals.
I was surprised when we got to the Jeep and I discovered she wasn’t even the one driving. A large, older lady was behind the steering, dark glasses over her eyes and a pair of wireless headphones above her head. She was nodding rhythmically, obviously to the music from the headphones.
She rolled down her glass when she saw us.
‘Did you succeed?’ she asked.
The girl with me shook her head and told her what had happened.
‘Oh that’s nice of you,’ the big lady said. ‘Hop in please.’
I entered the car. The sudden feel of cool air from the car AC gave me a brief glimpse of what heaven would be like.
‘So, young man, what is your name?’ the big lady asked me. Her eyes did not leave the wheel.
‘James, Ma,’ I said.
I knew if I had mentioned Olatunbosun and satan takes the day she happens not to be Yoruba, I will keep repeating the name till we get to the street. It has happened before.
‘Student?’ she asked.
‘Final year. Chemical Engineering,’ I said.
‘Oh, how very nice,’ she said with a slight smile, a smile that meant she’d heard better.
I guess at that moment I was overtaken by that jubilant feeling of being infinalswhen you feel like you are the most important person in the world.
‘The street is your next turn, Ma,’ I said, as if to mask the complacency in my former words.
‘Ok. Left or right?’
‘Left.’
She stopped the car in front of GT Bank, the more modern-looking GTB on Bank Street.
I was getting down when I heard the big woman say, ‘Sweet heart, won’t you get your friend’s number at least?’
The other girl smiled at me and extended her phone—an Iphone, I couldn’t tell now which model. From the way it felt in my hand, it must have been nothing less than Iphone8.
I pressed in my digits and without seeking her permission dialled it before handing the phone back.
‘Oh you dialled it already,’ she said as she looked at her phone.
‘Yes.’ My yes was not audible. My Tecno has started her signature jazz, drowning out my voice.
‘I will call you,’ I said, rushing out of the car without bothering to hear her response.
The big lady waved at me before her glass slid up, concealing her.
I watched their car go down a bit and then turn into Access Bank.
I turned and walked into the bank space. As common to anything GTB, there was still a small queue. By the time I walked out, their car was gone.
I called Phoenix (that was what she later told me her name was) two days after. It was one of those lazy days you keep scrolling down your contacts while checking MTN Zone rate.
When she answered, I was surprised she called my name, that she remembered me. That means she had actually saved my number. Quite surprising for a Naija girl seen in a Jeep.
We talked for some minutes. I made her laugh. I was quite skilled at making girls laugh. Though some days can be awful—or some girls—and the comedy technique won’t work. Sometimes you only get that patronizing smile that makes you feel more stupid than funny. Our girls are quite all sorts.

To be continued...