It's not you . . .

The young woman at the internet café has had her fill of me. How can I tell? Because when I wave to her to get her attention she notices, but then a. looks away immediately at nothing in particular b. stays in her seat for about 3 silent seconds and then c. with a heavy sigh heaves herself (and all of her unfounded annoyance) out of the chair and slooowly crosses the 6 foot divide between her and I.

I can’t really imagine what I’ve done to warrant THIS level of attitude, but I’m thinking it has something to do with my very-American demand for customer service. And I’m not delusional; I’m well aware that it’s not found here in Lagos (not in any of the Lagos I’m bound to encounter anyway – no oil tycoons to impress), but I still see no use in lowering my expectations – I always ask nicely after all (insert shit-eating grin).

I think she remembers me from a few days ago – actually, I’m certain everyone I speak with everywhere remembers me. In the midst of the rhythmic staccato that is Lagotian English, my accent breaks through like so many pieces of shattered dinnerware. I’m in the habit of speaking in hushed tones so as not to draw attention to myself, but truth be told it’s not that effective a plan. I’m generating a lot of confusion, getting a lot of scrunched up faces, a lot of ‘EH?!’

And then I have to repeat myself, only louder (of course, now louder than I would have spoken in normal voice), and inevitably at least 3 people overhear the accent I was trying to downplay and I realize then that there’s been no point to any of it.

But all that to say that the internet café woman remembers me from the time when I successfully rallied for a complimentary additional 15 minutes since the server had to be re-booted during my session and I lost a good chunk of time. HOW this is an unreasonable request, I can’t imagine, but her ‘Yeah right’ roll of the eyes when I asked for some compensation only strengthened my reserve. This may not be the US, and I may not be all that much of an ‘American,’ but Lord help me, that’s basic customer service!

So now when she makes no secret of her distaste for my brand of existence, I make a point to not mind. She squints her eyes at me and talks to me like I’m developmentally disabled, but it’s all good. It’s just that we come from different experiences, that’s all. We’ve got a long way to go, her and I, but for some strange reason (and at this point feel free to call me delusional) I really believe we’re gonna be buddies when it’s all said and done.

Maybe . . .

(hehehehehehe)