StoryTime: Restaurant Troubles

It’s that time of the week again. StoryTime! If you’re new to this segment, StoryTime is a part of my blog, posted every Friday, where I relate the random experiences, mine or otherwise, that may or may not be fictional. Your job is to decide which is which.


It’s been a while since our last StoryTime, so hopefully your sense have dulled since then and you’ll be able to make the right deduction. And what will we be talking about today? Food! Or to be more specific, the worst encounter I’ve ever had at a restaurant (if they still have the liver to call themselves a restaurant). So without further ado, let’s get into it, shall we?

It was a beautiful day….too beautiful. In fact, that should have alerted me that today was going to be one of those days. The sun was out, the birds were singing, NEPA hadn’t taken light since morning (a modern day miracle). So tell me why I allowed my cousin Chudi to convince me to follow him to this new restaurant that had opened a week ago. I could have stayed at home, reheated my Jellof rice in peace. But no, I wanted to form bougie and rich at a new hot-spot, so I agreed. Chudi started joking about how since he was the one that suggested the place, I should treat him to a meal there……..I told him that he had picked the right outfit (a plain black t-shirt and jeans) to wash plates for when they drag his broke ass back to the kitchen. No one needed to tell him to bring his wallet with him after that statement.

We got to the venue and I was instantly impressed. A sleek building surrounded by neat, trimmed hedges and a large parking space. We had to wait at the door in order to get seated. As soon as we sat down, a waiter came over to take our orders. I wanted to form posh so I spoke with my Old Britainnia Voice: ‘Good day fine sir. Why yes, I would like 2 bottles of ‘Crrystal Warrer‘ (sluring your R’s is important when acting posh) for myself and my companion. There’s a good chap, thank you’. My plan was to sip the water coolly while I looked through the menu properly to see what my cheap ass could afford. Chudi looked at me with new found respect as the waiter left and I had to admit, it felt good to be appreciated, so I began to lecture him on the advantages of proper diction.

Mid convo, I spied the waiter coming back. That was fast. I spread my napkin on my lap neatly and looked up to see that Baba Waiter has brought over 2 bottles of champagne and was in the process of opening one of them. I told oga to hold it first. I didn’t even know when Britainnia left me and Osapa London entered into my mouth. I asked bros what he was doing. He had the impetus to smile at me and tell me that he managed to snag the last 2 bottle of Crystal Wara Champagne for us and would I like him to pour it in a fluted glass or the regular champagne glass. (Oga, you must be very stupid. Did I come here to start discussing the intricacies of glass with you? Who ask you to pop the champagne?! The way you popped it now, you go un-pop am because it’s not me and my bank account you’re going to use to catch cruise)

Chudi could see that I was getting upset and I was slowing turning red (hard for a black person to do, trust me), so he tried to calm me down and take charge of the situation by asking how much each bottle cost. Oga Waiter then told him that they cost N95k each. (Yei! My chest! I can’t breathe o! *cough* Come, repeat that number again. 95 gini? Maybe I heard incorrectly. You know ever since I joined the church choir, I’ve become partially deaf from all the drumming and singing. So talk am again. Abi you said N9500? Eh, I should add another zero? Your father should add another zero. Wetin dey inside this bottle, the sweat of St Andrew?!)

Now there was still a ray of hope. Oga waiter hadn’t opened the other bottle, so we only had to split the N95k between the two of us (Imagine if that vagabond had popped the 2nd one. Ha, we for don die for the matter. Na him go vomit the money to pay for it. Nonsense. What kind of place doesn’t wait for the drinks reach to the table before they pop it?!) Anyway, now I had 2 choices to make: Offer to share the bill and survive on Cabin Biscuit for the next month OR take a trip to the ladies room, make a dramatic exit through the window and leave Chudi as an unwilling sacrifice. After all, it was his idea that we come here in the first place. Well, I guess you already know what decision I made. As a child of God and someone who has received vigorous home training, I begged God and Chudi for forgiveness in my heart as I made my way to the back of the establishment. It was a shame to rip my favourite dress, but rather a rip in my attire than a rip in my wallet. We will always move.

So, what do you think? Truth or Fiction? Vote down below.


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