WRONG



He kept staring. No matter what I did he just continued to stare, straight at me. I sat up straight; he stared, I slouched in my chair; he stared, I sat with more pressure on my left butt cheek; he still stared. The only solution to this was totally ignoring the problem. I turned my back to him and ignored the annoying awareness that someone was looking at me. I took out my little make-up mirror and glared at my reflection—checking if my eyes, nose and mouth were in order.
"Hi", a half greeting, one word, two letters. The starer was hi-ing me.
To be nice or haughty. I chose to be nice; it isn't his fault his mother did not teach him that it was impolite to stare.
"Good morning", my fakest smile plastered to my face; I faced the starer fully. Another reason why I chose to be nice, he was twice my size.
"I'm Seun"
OK, he's Yoruba. I can deal, I can deal, I can deal. Oh my goodness, I'm a tribalist, I can't deal. I stood up from my chair and left the room. I knew what would have left my mouth if I had stayed wasn't going to be nice and he was double my size. I like myself upright and un-pummeled, thank you.
I walked out of the room with no destination in mind. I wasn't going to go back in, that's a sign of defeat. (Though I was not battling anyone), I took a few more steps when my ankle chose that moment to twist in this really awkward way. Guess what happened after... Of course I fell; I did not even fall gracefully. I fell with this big gba! I can't even make bad decisions in peace anymore, curse you spirit of karma.
Seun, Mr steroids came rushing to my rescue. At this point I already feel like crap so quieten your judgmental mind already.
"Are you OK?" he tried lifting me with my elbows. Evading his hands and help; I stood up myself.
Already up and I fell again, with a scream this time. The attention I was getting will be enough to last me till I die.
My ankle was red and in a dangerous position. Mr Steroids beside me kept apologizing and swearing as if twisting my ankle was his doing. It might have been, he is Yoruba.
"Shit!!! Sorry your ankle..." he touched my ankle and I screamed again.
"...maybe I should carry you out." Carry who?!? What?!?! No son of Yoruba land will be carrying me!
I tried to get up again, this time with less weight on the twisted ankle. The ankle was getting discolored already.
"Are you sure you'll be fine by yourself?" Mr. Steroids asked.
Fake smile 1 came out," I'll be fine. Thank you."
I limped out to the lobby and ordered for an uber. Commercial buses will only be a drag with this ankle.
"You should remove your shoes", Mr. Steroids voice was deep but it was still getting on my nerves. He should mind his business.
"thanks", fake smile 2
The thing with fake smiles is that if you use the same one in every situation, then people will know you have a fake smile; but if you have different fake smiles, people will find it hard to see the difference between a fake and a real smile hence my possession of three fake smiles.
"You are still wearing the shoes", I looked at my pumps clad feet and I looked back at Mr. Steroids.
"Do you think I would remove my shoes because of a slight ankle accident?"
He looked at me weird and muttered, "Women"


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