As I type this, it has been approximately 15 hours and 56 minutes since I walked in and out of Michigan Restaurant on Dubois Street in Nairobi's CBD.
It was a restaurant I had caught with the corner of my eye at around midday. It was not its pink decor that dazzled me and neither did the female waitresses standing at the door tickle my fancy. It was not even the fact that it had a convenient location and a short walk to the matatu stage. No, it was the bright red poster that had the grandiose offer for Chips, Chicken, Soda and tomato sauce for KSh. 180!
It was a restaurant I had caught with the corner of my eye at around midday. It was not its pink decor that dazzled me and neither did the female waitresses standing at the door tickle my fancy. It was not even the fact that it had a convenient location and a short walk to the matatu stage. No, it was the bright red poster that had the grandiose offer for Chips, Chicken, Soda and tomato sauce for KSh. 180!
My friends, Pavlov's dogs had nothing on me. For the rest of the day, I thought about the meal. I fantasized about having such large chunks of hot chicken in my mouth that I couldn't speak if I tried. I knew I would have to pay for a second plate because such an opportunity needed to be properly utilized. The opportunity needed to be milked for everything it's worth. Those bloody restaurant fools I was about to take advantage of. In that moment, I thought I felt like a death row inmate having his last meal or Jesus preparing for his last supper.
8:45 pm.
I sauntered magnificently into the said restaurant. Walking up the flight of stairs, I praised the Lord for providing such a cheap way to fill my girlfriend's stomach in future. I took my seat at the very top and in the very kingly manner beckoned on a waitress. I explained to the waitress that I needed to place two orders; one would be devoured in the very spot I sat whereas the second serving would wrapped so that I could carry it home. She could keep one soda, I magnanimously offered.
8:51 pm.
Hence, I sat there, pensively staring at the roof as I thought about the difficulties of moving around the city on a full stomach. Why I sat alone in that restaurant baffled me. Couldn't people know a good deal if it hit them in the face with a heavenly fried smell? No matter, bloody fools......fortune favors the wise.
8:56 pm.
I watched as my meal was brought in a tray up the flight of stairs like a bride on an aisle. I felt like adjusting my shirt collar like an anxious groom, but I opted instead for the less subtle pulling up of my sleeves. My plate was placed before me and she stood there, in all her graces ready to be devoured by a famished lover. Fries on a saucer which looked like the end product of stale cooking oil. I winced. Immediately, I saw what was beside it, I called for the waiter as she attempted to flee in part embarrassment and part victory. You see, this was not my order, I tried to explain - disgusted at their incompetence. I did not and have never paid for what looked like an overcooked piece of fish fillet or a genetically modified dead cockroach... It was a chicken nugget fam, the size of a marble.
8:58 pm.
The pretty face confirmed that the nugget was the said chicken on offer! The ones confidently displayed at the entrance cost a lot more, and my meal could not be exchanged as I had already paid for it. A short argument ensued. She sneered at my confusion and sorrow and reminded me that I could as well fish out more coppers from my pocket and get the "real" chicken. I could immediately tell that she was used to disgruntled hustlers who seemed to know a lot about catering and hospitality. I waved her off.
I cursed. I writhed. I wished I were dead. Never had I spent money on such a small piece of chicken. My first bite almost made me cry as I could now see all the bones of what now appeared to be left-overs. It also happened to be my last bite, and not for a loss of appetite.
I cursed. I writhed. I wished I were dead. Never had I spent money on such a small piece of chicken. My first bite almost made me cry as I could now see all the bones of what now appeared to be left-overs. It also happened to be my last bite, and not for a loss of appetite.
9:16pm.
As I hurriedly left that abyss, the good waitress reminded me to pick my "take-away" meal on my way out. God bless her heart.
12:41 pm
It has been approximately 15 hours and 56 minutes since I walked in and out of Michigan restaurant along Dubois Road. Nothing has changed since then. I still feel a bile-like, painful sensation rising up my throat every now and then. I can taste nothing but bitterness. My frens, I was conned. I was mocked. I was starved. All in half an hour's work.
As I type this, it has been approximately 15 hours and 56 minutes since I walked in and out of Michigan Restaurant on Dubois Street in Nairobi's CBD.
It was a restaurant I had caught with the corner of my eye at around midday. It was not its pink decor that dazzled me and neither did the female waitresses standing at the door tickle my fancy. It was not even the fact that it had a convenient location and a short walk to the matatu stage. No, it was the bright red poster that had the grandiose offer for Chips, Chicken, Soda and tomato sauce for KSh. 180!
It was a restaurant I had caught with the corner of my eye at around midday. It was not its pink decor that dazzled me and neither did the female waitresses standing at the door tickle my fancy. It was not even the fact that it had a convenient location and a short walk to the matatu stage. No, it was the bright red poster that had the grandiose offer for Chips, Chicken, Soda and tomato sauce for KSh. 180!
My friends, Pavlov's dogs had nothing on me. For the rest of the day, I thought about the meal. I fantasized about having such large chunks of hot chicken in my mouth that I couldn't speak if I tried. I knew I would have to pay for a second plate because such an opportunity needed to be properly utilized. The opportunity needed to be milked for everything it's worth. Those bloody restaurant fools I was about to take advantage of. In that moment, I thought I felt like a death row inmate having his last meal or Jesus preparing for his last supper.
8:45 pm.
I sauntered magnificently into the said restaurant. Walking up the flight of stairs, I praised the Lord for providing such a cheap way to fill my girlfriend's stomach in future. I took my seat at the very top and in the very kingly manner beckoned on a waitress. I explained to the waitress that I needed to place two orders; one would be devoured in the very spot I sat whereas the second serving would wrapped so that I could carry it home. She could keep one soda, I magnanimously offered.
8:51 pm.
Hence, I sat there, pensively staring at the roof as I thought about the difficulties of moving around the city on a full stomach. Why I sat alone in that restaurant baffled me. Couldn't people know a good deal if it hit them in the face with a heavenly fried smell? No matter, bloody fools......fortune favors the wise.
8:56 pm.
I watched as my meal was brought in a tray up the flight of stairs like a bride on an aisle. I felt like adjusting my shirt collar like an anxious groom, but I opted instead for the less subtle pulling up of my sleeves. My plate was placed before me and she stood there, in all her graces ready to be devoured by a famished lover. Fries on a saucer which looked like the end product of stale cooking oil. I winced. Immediately, I saw what was beside it, I called for the waiter as she attempted to flee in part embarrassment and part victory. You see, this was not my order, I tried to explain - disgusted at their incompetence. I did not and have never paid for what looked like an overcooked piece of fish fillet or a genetically modified dead cockroach... It was a chicken nugget fam, the size of a marble.
8:58 pm.
The pretty face confirmed that the nugget was the said chicken on offer! The ones confidently displayed at the entrance cost a lot more, and my meal could not be exchanged as I had already paid for it. A short argument ensued. She sneered at my confusion and sorrow and reminded me that I could as well fish out more coppers from my pocket and get the "real" chicken. I could immediately tell that she was used to disgruntled hustlers who seemed to know a lot about catering and hospitality. I waved her off.
I cursed. I writhed. I wished I were dead. Never had I spent money on such a small piece of chicken. My first bite almost made me cry as I could now see all the bones of what now appeared to be left-overs. It also happened to be my last bite, and not for a loss of appetite.
I cursed. I writhed. I wished I were dead. Never had I spent money on such a small piece of chicken. My first bite almost made me cry as I could now see all the bones of what now appeared to be left-overs. It also happened to be my last bite, and not for a loss of appetite.
9:16pm.
As I hurriedly left that abyss, the good waitress reminded me to pick my "take-away" meal on my way out. God bless her heart.
12:41 pm
It has been approximately 15 hours and 56 minutes since I walked in and out of Michigan restaurant along Dubois Road. Nothing has changed since then. I still feel a bile-like, painful sensation rising up my throat every now and then. I can taste nothing but bitterness. My frens, I was conned. I was mocked. I was starved. All in half an hour's work.
As I type this, it has been approximately 15 hours and 56 minutes since I walked in and out of Michigan Restaurant on Dubois Street in Nairobi's CBD.
It was a restaurant I had caught with the corner of my eye at around midday. It was not its pink decor that dazzled me and neither did the female waitresses standing at the door tickle my fancy. It was not even the fact that it had a convenient location and a short walk to the matatu stage. No, it was the bright red poster that had the grandiose offer for Chips, Chicken, Soda and tomato sauce for KSh. 180!
It was a restaurant I had caught with the corner of my eye at around midday. It was not its pink decor that dazzled me and neither did the female waitresses standing at the door tickle my fancy. It was not even the fact that it had a convenient location and a short walk to the matatu stage. No, it was the bright red poster that had the grandiose offer for Chips, Chicken, Soda and tomato sauce for KSh. 180!
My friends, Pavlov's dogs had nothing on me. For the rest of the day, I thought about the meal. I fantasized about having such large chunks of hot chicken in my mouth that I couldn't speak if I tried. I knew I would have to pay for a second plate because such an opportunity needed to be properly utilized. The opportunity needed to be milked for everything it's worth. Those bloody restaurant fools I was about to take advantage of. In that moment, I thought I felt like a death row inmate having his last meal or Jesus preparing for his last supper.
8:45 pm.
I sauntered magnificently into the said restaurant. Walking up the flight of stairs, I praised the Lord for providing such a cheap way to fill my girlfriend's stomach in future. I took my seat at the very top and in the very kingly manner beckoned on a waitress. I explained to the waitress that I needed to place two orders; one would be devoured in the very spot I sat whereas the second serving would wrapped so that I could carry it home. She could keep one soda, I magnanimously offered.
8:51 pm.
Hence, I sat there, pensively staring at the roof as I thought about the difficulties of moving around the city on a full stomach. Why I sat alone in that restaurant baffled me. Couldn't people know a good deal if it hit them in the face with a heavenly fried smell? No matter, bloody fools......fortune favors the wise.
8:56 pm.
I watched as my meal was brought in a tray up the flight of stairs like a bride on an aisle. I felt like adjusting my shirt collar like an anxious groom, but I opted instead for the less subtle pulling up of my sleeves. My plate was placed before me and she stood there, in all her graces ready to be devoured by a famished lover. Fries on a saucer which looked like the end product of stale cooking oil. I winced. Immediately, I saw what was beside it, I called for the waiter as she attempted to flee in part embarrassment and part victory. You see, this was not my order, I tried to explain - disgusted at their incompetence. I did not and have never paid for what looked like an overcooked piece of fish fillet or a genetically modified dead cockroach... It was a chicken nugget fam, the size of a marble.
8:58 pm.
The pretty face confirmed that the nugget was the said chicken on offer! The ones confidently displayed at the entrance cost a lot more, and my meal could not be exchanged as I had already paid for it. A short argument ensued. She sneered at my confusion and sorrow and reminded me that I could as well fish out more coppers from my pocket and get the "real" chicken. I could immediately tell that she was used to disgruntled hustlers who seemed to know a lot about catering and hospitality. I waved her off.
I cursed. I writhed. I wished I were dead. Never had I spent money on such a small piece of chicken. My first bite almost made me cry as I could now see all the bones of what now appeared to be left-overs. It also happened to be my last bite, and not for a loss of appetite.
I cursed. I writhed. I wished I were dead. Never had I spent money on such a small piece of chicken. My first bite almost made me cry as I could now see all the bones of what now appeared to be left-overs. It also happened to be my last bite, and not for a loss of appetite.
9:16pm.
As I hurriedly left that abyss, the good waitress reminded me to pick my "take-away" meal on my way out. God bless her heart.
12:41 pm
It has been approximately 15 hours and 56 minutes since I walked in and out of Michigan restaurant along Dubois Road. Nothing has changed since then. I still feel a bile-like, painful sensation rising up my throat every now and then. I can taste nothing but bitterness. My frens, I was conned. I was mocked. I was starved. All in half an hour's work.
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