Of Men and Gentlemen

Let me burst your bubble right now, before you get in too deep.

You see that link up there? The one that says Next Blog >> you should probably click that if your preference is swayed towards a juicy story of relationship drama.

There I warned you.

*Matatu.

Mayhem.

Misery.

The weather should have told it all. Cold and drizzly was the sky and mucky and muddy was the earth.

Getting home was going to be anything but rosy.

I get to the bus stop at 5.45 pm and leave close to half an hour later. A century it seems.

Spotted in the sea of vehicles, a matatu going my way. I wish that I was the only one who saw it as pushing and shoving will soon be the name of the game.

Man or gentleman be the judge:

Almost there, at least that's what I think. Only two seats left. For the gentleman ahead of me and I. Assumptions will surely be the death of me.

My focus on "my" seat is unshakable I don't even notice the gentleman ahead of me clings to a girl. Presumably his better half. He pulls her. Doesn't even stop to look if he'll hurt anybody as he pulls her through the crowd. Dog eat dog world, I guess.

Him.

 Man to me, gentleman to her, causes me to hit myself hard against the vehicle's door. Metallic door.

Not only am I left bruised from the run in with the door, but also mud on my jeans and misery written all over my face.

Unlike the mud on my jeans that washes of later, I can't say the same for the memory engraved in my mind from that drab Thursday evening.

And they say gentlemen don't exist... Ha!


*matatu-public service vehicle in East Africa