C3: Chichi's Classic Cock-Ups

Tales of woe from from your average Joe Schmoe! Ever had an embarrassing moment you'd much rather forget? I've had loads! And I'm sharing!

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

great balls of fire

Venue: MUSON Center
Date: circa December 2001
Event: Femi Kuti Concert

So, we're standing by the staircase to the left of the entrance: us being myself, the Honz and a fine honey I cannot remember right now. Yozi (a seemingly permanent feature in these cock ups - maybe I re-evaluate our friendship, eh) is sat on staircase in question looking dazed, confused and bored out of his mind. I am too and just want to be near the fine babe.

Honz says, not once but twice that he can smell something burning. I go, feeling like the know it all, "It's a Femi Kuti concert. You know dudes will be smoking that indo!" Honz doesn't buy it. WHile it might make sense, not at MUSON @ N2500 a ticket. Point. But I maintain my stance.

However, the stench gets stronger and I am convinced it is Mary Jane, so I start to look around for her. She must be close by. Honz is screw facing at this point because the stench is so strong at this point but there's no blunt in sight. Busied by my ever roaming eyes, I finally turn to notice smoke rising before my eyes. Beyond the smoke, I see life coming to Yozi's eyes and he's laughing his ass off! I decide to follow the trail of smoke and it leads straight to my crotch!

I see my tough (yeah right) denim burning in a ring of fire and I naturally panic and start jumping up and down like a buffoon, attracting all sorts of unwanted attention.

It was funny as hell and Yozi uttered the now immortal words: ONLY YOU!

Some Sherlock Holmes work led to the bottom of things. Pretty girl in question, when she was hugging Honz, trailed her cigarette weilding hand and torched my shit!

Moral of the story: Pretty women are too hot to handle!


Monday, August 21, 2006

locked up... AGAIN!!!

I know a lot of my posts in C3 are hard to believe but I speak the truth in here. Scout's honor (even though I was a member of the Red Cross). Some are aware of my little "Ajala The Traveller" holiday completed recently and on the 1st London leg (thank GOD twas that one for if twas the 2nd leg, I'd still be there, legally but broke-ly... very broke-ly), I managed to incarcerate myself in my brother's flat. How did I do it? I wonder.

It was my 1st time in his flat the night before and he was off to Newcastle the following evening after work (Thursday, July 29th), so we met in town for me to cut a key as he'd still be'oop nooth' when I left for NY on the Sunday. So, we cut the key, do our goodbyes and I head back to his, slam the door and proceed to blast the PC music (11.5GB of old school madness, I was in heaven), chat online, play PS2 and yap away on the phone.

At about 2 o'clock, I decide to hit the street. I remember not where it is I was going but it was time to break out. So, I turn everything off, pick up my freshly cut keys and head for the door. Try to open the door and no marbles. That's odd, I think but I think nothing of it. I start to panic when the knob won't turn or the latch won't give way. What's going on, I wonder? I yank, knock, kick but nada. Then I realize the awful truth... I AM LOCKED IN! Why oh why did I slam the door? This sucks ass majorly! Okay Chichi, woo sah! woo sah! Calm down and breathe easy.

I call big bro to ask if this has happened before but it's as foreign to him as Fijians. He laughs and calls me "Mr. Foolish" like he loves to but assures me there is nothing he can do about it. Once work is done, I best believe he's on a train to Newcastle and I'm in the London branch of OYO (On Your Own) and then he does the villainous movie laugh and hangs up. Ok. Now you can panic. More wrestling with the door but nada happens. Problem. However, Chichi hates stress, so just puts everything back on and relaxes like nothing happened. How for do?

About 3 hours passed and I realized how ridiculous it was, so I gave it another go. Nada. So I chose to call my darling Elaine. She's always there for me. I call her and tell her I need her to come over and she goes she's sorry, just got back from work and she can't! Woah! I just ended the convo there and we had a little 'lover's tiff' over it later but it was nothing really. Just a misunderstanding. Then, I decided to call my other darling Maimuna. This i'da done much earlier as she lives 5/10 minutes away from my brother but you see, a few minutes before the initial lock-in, we had had a falling out and the stubborness in me didn't let me call. BUT I WAS TRAPPED!

So, I called, she laughed, took her time (about 45 minutes) then came over to finally free silly willy. She refused to believe anyone could be that stupid and wanted to convince herself I did it as a cheap ploy to get her over. I wish that was the case, that I'd stoop that low to make up a bullshit story just so I can prove victorious but no, I had really locked myself in. So, I step outside, she stays in, we lock the door and all I hear from the other side is her sarcastic laugh as she opens the door from the inside. "Chinedu Iroche," she says, "I refuse to believe you are this stupid." "I swear I was trapped," I yell in my defence.

See, what had happened was, I tried to shift the lock, which had set into place when I slammed the door, left and right repeatedly to no avail, when all I had to do was shift it up or down. So in essense, my refusal to use my common sense and some patience had me locked up for 4 hours. I can still hear her laughter and abuse ringing in my ears.


Blog Marley out like his senses on July 29th '06!

Friday, June 09, 2006

the praying mantis

Knowing that quite a few people enjoy me exposing my many foibles, I thought I’d just hit ya’ll up with another classic from the kid. This one is very embarrassing but I’m still here standing, ain't I? Yeah! That’s right! Chichi’s a tough one. (Whatever). Anyway, enjoy this blooper from Kid Confusion.

Hail Mary, grant me grace!

My boy Chris transferred to Kings College in senior secondary school and immediately left an impression on everybody – son was nuts!!! He was a funny talking, funny walking, outspoken dude. He settled in real quick and became one of the more popular dudes out there in no time. This of course, has its downsides. Unluckily for Chris, he got into some trouble with seniors which escalated into regular sessions in the Principal’s office and it just got way outta hand.

Back home, his mother obviously wasn’t happy about that. What mother would? You don’t want your son in any kind of trouble. Being the first time such was happening, and being in a new school, naturally, blame has to shift unto the “new” friends who must be bad influences on her boy. This is the vibe I got, not saying it was for real but I couldn’t blame her though. New environment, trying to fit in, he could easily mingle with the “wrong crowd”. So anytime we were over, I always felt a bit uncomfortable because I felt she saw us as some of these bad influences on her son. We are still best mates after 11 years (12 maybe) so we clearly weathered that storm. I should go see her really.

Anyway, back to the story. So, judging from how uncomfortable I was just visiting, imagine my pulse rate the first weekend I spent over. Ohmigawd! It was quite tense for me, so I ended up hiding out in the room all day. Dinnertime, however, I couldn’t escape. We all had to sit at table for dinner. This was a practice that was discontinued at my house ages ago, so it was kinda odd, and with the woman I was in awe of as well, sat right there. If being a bad influence was strike one, dinner was strike two. Observe.

So, we all sit round the table and the spread is before us. I spot beans. I don’t do beans. So I dish rice and stuff when it is my turn but avoid the beans. She asks why? I say because I don’t eat beans. She doesn’t like this. She asks if I am allergic; to which I reply, No, I just don’t like it very much. She then responds by giving me the lecture my mother has given a million times; about so many hungry children that would kill for beans but I say I don’t eat beans? Rubbish! At this point, I should take heed to the signs from Chris and his bros to let it go; and even the body language of his dad (GOD rest his soul) should have clued me in. But no, not Chichi. This part, I really don’t remember quite clearly because strike three drowned out every thing else. You’ll see. Anyway, I believe she asked me to have some which I politely refused (still rude of me either way, I mean, I was in her house at her dinner table) and that didn’t help matters much. I must confess I was scared shitless but nothing would scare me more than the after effects of beans! She wasn’t very impressed. She just had a standoff (more like a sit-down) with a silly kid and he didn’t back down. As I said earlier, STRIKE TWO!

Now the final mess up. I didn’t mention they are staunch (well their mom anyway) Catholics now, did I? Emphasis on staunch! So, nighttime just before bed is prayer time, to thank The Father for the day about to end and receive blessings for the one to come. I had no problem with this as I went to a catholic primary school and had regular fellowship meetings at home with moms and dear old Aunty Ashake (GOD bless her soul, it is well).

So, we’re all in there, knelt down as his mom leads the way. And as usual, the boys are tucked in the corner making faces and trying to disorient each other so as to get someone a bullocking. Little did we know Chichi would sort that out for everyone. So, she announces the Bible passage to be read and charges each person to read a certain verse or two. I ignore everybody else’s reading because I am going over mine repeatedly until it is my turn, to make sure I don’t mess it up. You’d think I didn’t know how to read. It was pretty straightforward and I didn’t sweat it and just kicked back till it was my turn, and eventually, my moment in the spotlight came.

I cannot now recall the passage but I can recall the atmosphere. You know you’ve done something when you can silence an already silent room. I begin to read, then I come to the tricky (it was straightforward, nothing tricky about it) bit. My eyes see the sentence and my brain processes the message to read (not too sure of the exact text now but the key word is unchanged): “The virginal womb of His mother, Mary.” However, my mouth, probably holding a personal grudge against my brain and the rest of my body, eager to get even, blurts (read: blurt, not whisper, not mention, not utter but BLURT) out: “The vaginal womb of His mother, Mary.” I believe the expression: “Mother of God!” would have been appropriate in this instance. And the sad bit is, save for the shocked reactions of everyone around me, I may not have noticed what I just said. Chris let out a chuckle before he controlled himself; his brother John had his mouth wide open for what seemed to be eternity; their mom, who had her back to me shot straight up but didn’t turn around (poor woman) and their Dad whom we thought was asleep at this point, gave me that sideways look like “Nah uh! You didn’t just say that young man.” I did the only thing I could – I kept reading! STRIKE THREE!

Neither of the parents made mention of it but the boys didn’t let me live this one down. It still has to be my most embarrassing moment ever. I was already in awe of this woman, had turned down her food and now, sacrilege! That was the moment I wanted the ground to swallow me up and never spit me out. The deed was done and apologizing would only make it worse. But how do you act like that never happened? If one person had caught it, then fine but the whole room? Nah dawg. That was a done deal.

I still stayed till Sunday as planned and redeemed myself (or so I thought) the following night by delivering a flawless reading but I can bet my bottom dollar the passage was carefully picked this time around!

Safe to say, I and Mrs. A are cool now but I still feel a slight chill from time to time whenever I’m around her still. I’m buggin’ but hey, I do describe myself as a big kid @ heart, no? It’s Chichi at his best ya’ll!

Funny thing though, every time I think about it now, this is all that goes on in my head:

Holy Mary
Mother of God
Pray for us sinners
Now and at the hour
Of our death


Tuesday, June 06, 2006

locked up (who'll let me out)

Sup fam? He's back with more tales of woe. This one isn't so classic just that it is recent. It happened on Sunday. It was a bit funny and maybe admittedly scary after a while but hey. It wasn't really a cock-up on my part but what qualifies it is the fact that these things seem to only happen to me! What did I ever do to anybody? If I offended anyone in a past lifetime, I apologize profusely! Please forgive me and set me free from my blundering ways. Anyhoo, enough ranting already. Let's dive right into the:

The tissue @ Hand

Saturday started off pretty regularly. Waking up real late and doing nothing at all. I finally stopped lazing about and prepared to go for my friend's wedding. We had some history, so attending the ceremony was kinda odd but hey, we're all grown ups, right? And before ya'll get all excited, unfortunately, the cock-up didn't come at the ceremony nor was it related. Now that woulda been classic!

From the wedding, I went to the Nigerian Society for the Blind's Annual May Ball and had a real good time until the raffle draw. I had four invites and ten raffle tickets (don't ask) and managed to win NOT A DAMN THANG! There were 3 free tickets to London (one of which could have come in real handy), a free ticket to Accra, many free dinners, a portable DVD and a whole buncha other stuff. And I didn't win nada! So my aunt (an organizer) gave me complimentary wine and engine oil. Hold on! I just remembered another cock-up including the engine oil. So this is a double cock-up. Interesting.

Anyway, after thinking I had had a great day, sans losing out on prizes, I got a phone call from my Editor. I know. Never pick up a work call on the weekend, no less at night even. Anyhoo, I picked it up and apparently there's an article I was supposed to have written that I wasn't informed about. I don't write for this particular publication, I just manage the production process, so I thought the write up I was asked to do the week before was a one off. Apparently, not so he needs me to come in on Sunday to do it as that's the deadline. Sweet, huh?

Anyway, I go into the office Sunday, much later than planned because of sweet sleep and telephone flirting (I'm a ho), and get to work. On the way, I stop to get me a bite to eat since I missed breakfast and lunch wasn't done by the time I was ready. The food didn't agree with me and before long I felt the rumble in the jungle. I tried to stifle it and save it for home where I would have "quality reading" to carry out the task at hand (never do a number 2 without reading material). The rumble wasn't having it though, so I had to get down to business.

Trusting the office toilets, on the weekend no less, I had to do the security checks: one, was there water and two, was there tissue. Check one checked out but check two was a negative. Under some discomfort, I ran out to the car to get some tissue (honestly, more like handy wipes) and scampered back to do the deed. I couldn't find any quality reading so opted to take my laptop in with me. I proceeded to get to work and will honorably spare you the details. Deed done, Chichi up, time to get back to work. Turn the lock, door won't open. That's odd, he thinks to himself. So he tries again. No marbles!


This is perfect, no? Stuck in this 6 x 4 cubicle with no windows or nothing - on a Sunday! Don't panic Chichi, it'll be alright. Like hell it'll be alright! I'm stuck in the shitter on a Sunday and you say it'll be alright? Twat! What to do now? 'Ang on... you have your phone on you, yeah? Did you use all the credit last night being a ho, you git? No you didn't! Thankfully. So I call my man Yomi in IT who happens to be working as well and expectedly, he initially blows me off because nobody takes me seriously. He eventually called back and said he'd check up on me to make sure I wasn't bullshitting. (No pun intended there).

He eventually showed up and asked if I had a screw driver. Yes, I do because it's mandatory I take one everywhere I go with me. Come on dude? Yup! Classic Chichi. Being sarcastic even when he needs help. So expectedly, I have to apologize and beg him to come back and help me. So, he found out rather painfully that life doesn't always imitate art. Kicking in a door like they do in the movies, like they say in Nigeria, is not a beans! He eventually called out, "My guy, I'm tired o! Let me go and look for someone." So the waiting began.

10 minutes...

15 minutes...

He came back and just my luck, the janitor was off duty. GREAT!!! So, on with some more kicking and my man getting tired again. Then I had the idea! I watch 24, Prison Break and the like. I'm an action guy. Think Chichi, think! That's it! The ceiling! I will climb out through the ceiling! So I proceed to dislodge the only accessible ceiling board and almost twist my ankle and break my neck in the process because the sink can't hold my weight. Dead that plan. A Spiderman impersonation is also out of the question because I'd surely destroy my laptop. Yomi goes to search for another alternative. More waiting.

20 minutes...

25 minutes...

30 minutes...

He comes back again and has found a screw driver. He proceeds to do some amatuer carpentry and succeeds in permanently locking the door by destroying the lock. Just grand, eh? At least, we can both laugh about it and he confesses that if I had waited 5 more minutes our roles would have been reversed. Typical. If it don't happen to Chichi, it don't happen to anybody else. We proceed to another bout of kicking but this time, I pull back on the handle. This sends jolts through my arm and when he lands the successful kick, it hurts! The expression on his face is priceless but luckily, I know how to laugh at self. 30 minutes in a cubicle ain't that funny though.

Moral of the story: When the shit hits the fan, don't turn it on!

Oh! Before I forget, on my free engine oil, thinking it works the same way as water in the radiator, I emptied the 4 litre jerry can into the engine and wondered why the car was jerking and stalling...

If it ain't a cock-up, then it ain't the Chi!

G'nite everybody!

(Originally posted on May 31st, 2006)

the death of common sense

Continuing with tales of unfortunate but often self inflicted melancholic mishaps (sorry, just had to give the grammar a shot there, hee hee), here's my next offering. So before I go off on one of my deviating rants again, without much further ado, I bring to you, Mr. Potato-head (me just in case) in his latest misadventure:

Oh No, You Didn’t?!

‘twas the summer of ’99. again. Same place. Same good, special, happy time that I miss so much. And again featuring my main man Yoz. Birds of a feather, eh? Anyway, let me get on with it before I do like I do (which I am doing now) and yak on uncontrollably.

Staying over at Yoz’s place at the beginning of the holiday, I happened to run into some old friends; friends I hadn’t seen in ages. One happened to be my ex and the other, her best friend; more or less sister. Anyway, it felt quite good seeing them again as they were people I considered great friends and hanging out was really fun. However, seeing my ex again triggered off feelings that had never really faded away after the break up. I kept quiet about it and just smiled to myself in my nostalgic reverie.

I spoke to the best friend later that evening (sorry for not using real names, I know how annoying that can be. Okay, we’ll call the best friend Ginger and the ex Savannah. Ha ha. Some names, eh? And subsequently, all aliases will be indicated with an * by their name. cool? So on we go). So, I spoke to Ginger later that evening and told her how great it was seeing her and Savannah again. She shared the sentiment but took it further: “So, what’s going on? you and Savannah think you’re smart, yeah? I saw those looks. Something’s still there.”

The accusation was of course pleasing but also surprising. Thinking about it now as I write, maybe Savannah did mention something but naturally, she has to act like her girl got her ish together. Hmm. Anyhoo, glad to have her best friend’s support, I called Savannah to set the ball rolling. Long story short, we started dating shortly after.

The relationship was good. We were doing good, great times and all. However, I did have a few issues. She always came round to Yoz’s but she didn’t feel too comfortable with me coming to hers. Best I did was say goodbye at the entrance to her building once. I ain’t mad though. She had her reasons, and I respect them. Then we never went anywhere together. We just hung at Yozi’s crib. So we decided to hit the cinema one Sunday and that was fab.

Sunday came and along with it came a little glitch. See, we had planned to go to The Warner at the O2 Center (can’t recall what movie right now) but her fam was going there as well at about the same time so we couldn’t go there. Well, not that we couldn’t but she’d just rather not. I guess because she had opted out of going with them, being sighted there, with a dude no less, would just be avoidable stress. I wasn’t too pleased about this but I understood. We opted to go to the Odeon Swiss Cottage down the road but as fate would have it, nothing we wanted (more like “I”) to see was on. I started moaning and all, she was apologetic and all so we went back to – you guessed it – Yozi’s. we had a minor argument about it but made up soon after, making the best of the evening with – ahem – cable TV.

Even though Yozi did his own thing and gave us our space, we never really enjoyed that kind of quality alone time couples experience, so I decided we spend a whole day – I mean cock crow to owl hoot – at my bro’s place where we’d have the place to ourselves. She liked the idea and said she’d check her job schedule (she didn’t work everyday) so we’d hook it up.

We arranged to meet on the one day but that didn’t happen. Something came up on my end, so we had to reschedule. She understood, GOD bless her heart, and rescheduled for another day; two days later I believe. That day came, something else (virtually the same thing) came up and I had to cancel again. She understood but she didn’t understand really.

I apologized and said I could cancel. She said I shouldn’t worry (which the doofus didn’t understand meant that he had BETTER!) even though she had turned down two good offers for work that morning to be with me. That line says it all, right people? At that point, you don’t even call to cancel; you just don’t show up and run to your woman’s side. I mean, it ain’t rocket science! But what did Chichi say? ‘Oh, okay honey. I’ll call you when I get back.”

What could be so important that you’d blow your girl off twice in two days just like that? After I hung up the phone, Yozi had this questioning look in his eye. “What’ve you done now?” he asked. I narrate. “And you told her you had a job interview, right?” Uh, no Yozi. I told her the truth. “OH NO, YOU DIDN’T?! You are so stupid you know? There was no need for that. You are so unbelievably stupid!” I gave him my reasoning. It made sense only that it was flipping irrelevant! I made the wrong call and ringing back to try and salvage it now would just make it worse. The writing was on the wall. I had f**ked up! Needless to say, she became my ex for the final time two days later. It still hurts today.

So, what could I have done that was so bad? Well, day one, I broke it off because a “technical” ex I hadn’t seen in a while came into town from Nigeria en route to America, so that was the only day I could see her. Yes. That’s what I said. I broke off a commitment with my girlfriend to spend the day with my “technical” ex. Classic huh? I know. Yozi was kind, eh?

Ok, so what was day two you ask? Well, a “proper” ex came into town from America and surprised me at Yozi’s. she said we had to hang out because that was her only available day before she left for… Paris I think it was? Anyway, silly Chichi said okay and that’s when I placed the call to my “proper” girlfriend, explaining exactly why (like I had done with the technical) I had to break off our alone time yet again in less than 48hrs. please don’t crucify me. I was a retarded 19 year old that thought telling the truth always paid.

That was where my “reasoning” came from. London is a very small town filled with big leaking holes called mouths. Some prying eyes would spot me with either or both of my exes and run off to my current to happily spill the beans. What then after I may have told her I was with fam? She’d believe I was cheating for sure (for the record, I wasn’t, honest). So that’s why I told her the truth.

I felt that was commendable, which it actually is, however, what I failed to realize then was that it should not have even happened in the first place. “oh for real, you’re around? Dang, it’d be good to see you but I’m kicking it with my girl today.” Exes would have understood and respected that and if they hadn’t, that’s their problem – they had their term of office and there was a new commander-in-chief calling the shots.

I just didn’t understand that then. I thought I was being a man. Well, depending on what angle you look at it from… that’s just what I was doing.

Moral of the story: A bird in hand is worth two in the rearview…

Word to Jaheim… You better put that woman first!

(Originally posted on May 19th, 2006)

i missed the bus (i wish)

From my previous blogs, I guess you can tell that I am rather “special” (read: weird) in my ways. This statement is of course for the benefit of those not familiar with my “madness” and its methods. Anyway, enough (wannabe) psycho-babble. Moving on swiftly, I’d like to welcome you to the first installment of “Chichi’s Classic Cock-Ups” a series I hope will be the first of many (series that is) different ones to come.

C3 (I like to call it) highlights some of the more questionable moments in my life, you know, those bashful moments I’d like to forget but would rather share with you for your amusement (hopefully) and in turn prompt future ridicule of me. So without further ado, allow myself to present… myself (so sorry, couldn’t resist as I think Austin Powers is simply groovy baby, yeah! Sorry) in:

Double Decker-dence

‘twas the summer of ’99. place: London, England. ‘twas a good time. ‘twas a special time. ‘twas a happy time. I miss that time. Being the nonchalant so and so I was (am really) with everything concerning my person, my boy Yozi decided to take matters into his own hands. He literally seized my vacation money and marched me down to Oxford Street to go shopping. My wardrobe was in need of a desperate overhaul, he said. Why, I wondered. What’s wrong with jeans hanging off my ass and sweeping the floor in the process as I walk by? What’s wrong with wearing scoffed (read: mutilated) Timberlands that are two sizes too big? What’s wrong with being the same size as Steve Urkel but wearing Fat Albert’s t-shirts? In my world back then (still quite the same now really), not a damn thing!

Anyhoo, we proceed on our journey to “woman emulation” but not before we wolf down some delightful Dunkin’ Donuts! (Chichi’s a big kid you see, so he has to be bribed to do these type things). Once the gluttonous overgrown seedling is satisfied, we proceed down the makeover road (way before reality television too). A few hours, few (gay) shirts, few (gay) pants, a pair of (gay) shoes and a few (ok, quite a few really) burgers later, the deed is finally done. To be honest though, I didn’t quite mind these new threads. They weren’t bad at all. Big up yourself Yoz.

To be completely modest (hee hee), I know I am a rather good looking chap and you can’t tell me otherwise. However, I like to be as obscure as possible, therefore have adopted the habit of trying not to look good to avoid attention. Ridiculous, eh? But I clearly am a ridiculous dude, no? if the shoe fits, yeah? So that’s why the hair (when there’s any) isn’t combed, the beard is unkempt and clothes un-ironed. Ok, to be totally honest, it has nothing to do with looking good; trying to look good or presuming I look good. It simply boils down to what I like to call laid back nonchalance but is really just laziness.

This is all irrelevant to the tale actually. I apologize. Moving on, after the tiring shopping exercise, all I wanted was my bed. It had been a long day of walking and trying on stuff. I was exhausted to say the least. So I and my good man parted ways and I began my journey to my brother’s house in Bow (East London massive! Bo! Bo!). I got on the bus and was relieved to put the heavy shopping bags down for a bit and rest my toothpick arms.

Upon getting onto my brother’s road, I recalled that I had a rather long walk from the only bus stop to his house, which was right at the top of the street at a T-junction. In my weary state, plus having all those bags, I was not looking forward to that at all. Being an open back bus, I figured the bus would have to stop at the T-junction before turning left, so I’d just hop off there, cross the road and bang, I was home. I got up, gathered my bags and leaned into the pole preparing for my dismount. I noticed the driver taking several glances at me through the rearview mirror but shrugged it off.

The bus began to grind to a halt, so I figured the earlier I made my move the better. I mean, why procrastinate, right? So I proceed to take one small step for man and one great fall for my dumb ass! SPLAT! Flat on my face. Bags and all. Sidewalk, Chichi. Chichi, sidewalk.

Here’s how it happened. As I stepped off the still moving bus, and my foot made contact with the floor for the briefest of moments, it (the foot obviously) gave way and I wait flailing and sailing into the air, parallel to the ground for a moment, before finally kissing concrete. Everything went dark for a while. I finally managed to separate my face from the floor and look up. I saw my arms sprawled in front of me in a “V” formation – with shopping bags still tightly gripped. I looked further ahead and there was the bus, stopping at the T-junction, before turning left. A few more seconds Chichi. Just a few more seconds. On the upper deck were two boys pointing to my pathetic state and laughing out loud (I swear I could hear them in hysterics). A car drove past me, full of people pointing and laughing as well. It was confirmed – I was a twat.

So, I did the only thing I could do. I got up and brushed the dirt off my shoulder (way before Jigga) and the rest of my clothes, then began the walk of shame home, never glancing sideways once. Eyes straight ahead! I put my key in the door, unlocked it and walked into the house. I muttered ‘hello’ to my brother and his housemate and walked up to my room, locked the door behind me and passed out for the night…

I guess I never really took heed to those molue* training videos that have one simple disembarking rule – hit the ground running! Now I know and hope you do too.

Moral of the story: Act like Spike and always do the right thing.

*for the ill-informed, a molue is a commercial bus, similar in make to the US school buses. They are falling apart, not at all roadworthy and always overloaded with passengers.

(Originally posted on May 17th, 2006)