You’re hoping that the next usher carrying a tray of rice towards your direction is coming to serve you…After all, everyone around you has eaten. So this is your moment. “siiii!!!…over here please…” Some idiot diverts the usher’s attention from you to someone else. Na so she carry the food waka go another side.
At this point, You feel hot tears welling up in your eyes. . You know say if you cry, you don fuck up. You just have to put on a fake smile so that nobody will notice your misery. After all, is it because of ordinary party rice that’ll make you cry? Big boy like you. Have you not eaten rice severally in your lifetime? As much as you try to console yourself, you know damn well it’s not working. Especially, looking at the idiot across your table, whom the usher just gave the plate of rice that was meant for you.
As you watch the young man hungrily devour huge portions of ‘your’ jollof rice with swollen cheeks and an oily mouth, Instantly he becomes an enemy. You feel like choking the life out of him and strangling him at the same time.
You divert your attention to the fat woman wearing the shimmering expensive Buba lace, the woman who was well attended to, as if she came straight from Aso rock. She was leaving with two packs of 5-Alive juice and takeaway jollof rice. She smiled and waved at some folks across the hall while her car keys dangled between her fingers, like one big madam. “See how ugly and shapeless she is. Na so dem go dey form like say dem get money, but na dem go hustle food pass.”
Now, it looks like the ushers have forgotten you existed. Cos there were empty seats. People have eaten and taken their leave. Some like you, who couldn’t stand the preferential treatment left already. You came before the party started so there’s no way you’re leaving the venue with an empty stomach. Wait, after wasting transport fare from Ajegunle to Festac town? They expect you to go back home with an empty stomach, because of some God-forsaken, biased ushers? Lai lai! No way.
“Aunty I’ve not eaten oh! I’ve been here since and no one has served me. Nawa o! Una dey look face abi?” You complain bitterly to a middle aged woman who’s part of the ushering team. “Ehhyaa, my brother no vex, I dey come make I go bring food come.” After waiting for about 25 minutes, she didn’t show up. You couldn’t even find the petite, chubby woman again.
Now it’s time to drop your pride, your ‘big boyism’ and ego and head straight to the kitchen department to lay complaint. This you actually did. “Ewww..chai…sorry oh..no vex oh my brother…we didn’t know…blablabla” that’s all you get from these bunch of morons. But it’s too late! Jollof rice is remaining very small…no meat..no salad.
As you angrily eat the remnants they offered you, a plate of stone cold, dry, burnt rice obviously scraped from the bottom of the pot, you swear for everyone who’s had everything to do with this situation.
THIS IS THE WORST PARTY I EVER ATTENDED!!!!