Ange Mystique’s squinted barman
May 15, 2005
Oh Bangi! Bangi! Why don’t you stand for president!<br>It is really hard to come by good advice these days, but the other day, I got better luck.
Oh Bangi! Bangi! Why don’t you stand for president!
It is really hard to come by good advice these days, but the other day, I got better luck.
The Holy Spirit advised me to hand over my soul to Bangi’s Oldies’ Night at Ange Mystique on the first Friday of this month. (By the way, good old Bangi changed address from Viper Room, where the new Israeli proprietor ‘would not recognise a beautiful talent even if it bit him on the butt’ - not my words).
And Bangi was not a bad guy. He took my soul through a tour of those good old days when we used to dance daily (I am not speaking Luganda) without gasping for breath.
I will not describe the type of women Bangi’s numbers called to my mind because you will laugh - I know you. But those days, God hadn’t got presidential advisers on economics and used his clay extravagantly. The beautiful women were those visible from the moon.
But these days, that is the preserve of men, who are likely to be attracted to Bangi’s history. Most patrons were fat! And the Ange Mystique was not built to accommodate as many elephants.
So, we had to squeeze into the available space where even an erection would have no more space to occupy.
Yet more kept coming in. Even the women, but I dare not say much. But it seems you have to be fat to thirst for history and memories.
At first, I attributed the fatness to the time oldies have spent in offices, but that looked a layman’s analysis. Several beers later, I had to come up with a scientific hypothesis. I am pleased to report that according to science, everyman in The Movement has to gain weight.
At least I am, and it is not because I love roasted/fried foods (they remind me of brown women or the other way round - I am not sure). But I compensate for this by engaging in a strict neutralising regimen of one quarter of Richot after every three beers. Which always leaves my pockets dry. Anyway, ‘No pain, no gain’.
Bell beer was on promotion at sh1,500! But every time my partner took sh10,000 for 3 Bells, she would not bring balance. That called for a commission of inquiry (you know school fees pressure and all that). But she was innocent.
The bartender at the main bar was cheating us. For revellers who did not insist, he was selling Bells at sh2,500 and pocketing sh1,000 per bottle! (Should I change professions?).
After four rounds of 12 Bells, he had detoothed us of sh12,000. I confronted him and he said he had never seen my face since he was born.
It was when my cousin, who knows every big shot there is to know in this country, threatened to call Charlie that the guy apologised and refunded sh15,000.
But of course you cannot zip up my mouth with sh3,000 when others are getting sh5m to ‘consult their constituents’.
There was a British Airways promotion for a free ticket to somewhere. They waited for everybody to get drunk before they announced that because we were too old to fly, the draw would not take place. We were so relieved because what we yearned for that time was the marital bed. At our age, if you don’t make a call when the battery still has some memory charge, you lose it and have to wait for another Bangi, which will not come till next month.
Ends
It is really hard to come by good advice these days, but the other day, I got better luck.
The Holy Spirit advised me to hand over my soul to Bangi’s Oldies’ Night at Ange Mystique on the first Friday of this month. (By the way, good old Bangi changed address from Viper Room, where the new Israeli proprietor ‘would not recognise a beautiful talent even if it bit him on the butt’ - not my words).
And Bangi was not a bad guy. He took my soul through a tour of those good old days when we used to dance daily (I am not speaking Luganda) without gasping for breath.
I will not describe the type of women Bangi’s numbers called to my mind because you will laugh - I know you. But those days, God hadn’t got presidential advisers on economics and used his clay extravagantly. The beautiful women were those visible from the moon.
But these days, that is the preserve of men, who are likely to be attracted to Bangi’s history. Most patrons were fat! And the Ange Mystique was not built to accommodate as many elephants.
So, we had to squeeze into the available space where even an erection would have no more space to occupy.
Yet more kept coming in. Even the women, but I dare not say much. But it seems you have to be fat to thirst for history and memories.
At first, I attributed the fatness to the time oldies have spent in offices, but that looked a layman’s analysis. Several beers later, I had to come up with a scientific hypothesis. I am pleased to report that according to science, everyman in The Movement has to gain weight.
At least I am, and it is not because I love roasted/fried foods (they remind me of brown women or the other way round - I am not sure). But I compensate for this by engaging in a strict neutralising regimen of one quarter of Richot after every three beers. Which always leaves my pockets dry. Anyway, ‘No pain, no gain’.
Bell beer was on promotion at sh1,500! But every time my partner took sh10,000 for 3 Bells, she would not bring balance. That called for a commission of inquiry (you know school fees pressure and all that). But she was innocent.
The bartender at the main bar was cheating us. For revellers who did not insist, he was selling Bells at sh2,500 and pocketing sh1,000 per bottle! (Should I change professions?).
After four rounds of 12 Bells, he had detoothed us of sh12,000. I confronted him and he said he had never seen my face since he was born.
It was when my cousin, who knows every big shot there is to know in this country, threatened to call Charlie that the guy apologised and refunded sh15,000.
But of course you cannot zip up my mouth with sh3,000 when others are getting sh5m to ‘consult their constituents’.
There was a British Airways promotion for a free ticket to somewhere. They waited for everybody to get drunk before they announced that because we were too old to fly, the draw would not take place. We were so relieved because what we yearned for that time was the marital bed. At our age, if you don’t make a call when the battery still has some memory charge, you lose it and have to wait for another Bangi, which will not come till next month.
Ends