The month comes to an end. I have been hustling. Waking up to face the same annoying boss with crazy deadlines. Weird workmates and sometimes doing projects I hardly have a clue about but still I get it done as I anticipate the end of the month. Motivation. My bank account bes smiling. So am I. It is a mutual feeling of course. The wave of relief that sweeps through office on payday is just too contagious and an assault on my account once office ends that day is inevitable.
Friday comes and I already laid plans for the weekend. Yay!!! Hit my den of a muzigo and on my hard-as-Trump’s feelings bed I laid my money. Like how guys do it in hip-hop videos. That gleam on the face when those papers are in your control. A million plans creep up. You know how money distorts our thinking.
I start running my mind through all the cool joints I know in town. Those I pass by on my way from work. Hungry and tired but they having people eating from their any day. I decide to choose Cafe Javas. It has always smelled nice. Coffee, cake, ice cream and those things their menu says that sound like so Mukasa Mbidde ish. Even the people I spot in there are always lit. Who does not want to be spotted there one day? Really?
Today is my day. I go there, with all excitement I step in, choose a spot by the street facing window (self-advertisement strategy, you know) and order for my Caribbean jerk chicken. Thanks to my curiosity as to what exactly a chicken jerk meal could be like. I say a ‘Lord thank you for this day’ short prayer and slowly start devouring my treat. Same time I am scrolling through my phone. Like how a rich kid does. Sipping off my cold cola. Slowly.
Just as I am half way into it, somewhere some people break into song. Happy birthday settings. I ignore. Soon after, the choir shifts to another table, and another to the other. All these followed with clapping and drumming. Fanfare. Not with the noises from the excited revelers. Circus. It is exhausting. I did not eat the remainder in peace. My money. Could not even take a better selfie for these guys were literary in every corner of my background. Their voices may just as well be captured in my pictures. I wish that may be Café Javas could just as well set up a whole new joint for just birthday parties and station its choir there so that some of us (yes, I joined that status already) who want to eat our money in calm and peace do not have to be forced into other people’s birthday happiness. It really does get to the nerves.