👇👇...CONTINUE FROM PART-I
Complicated Odyssey
The moment I got struck by the ATM, having waited fruitlessly for over two hours, I fiercely walked straight into the banking hall precisely at the Customers’ Service section, leaving other frustrated guests behind.
With the look on my face, anyone could attest that all was not well. “I want to see the manager,” I forcedly requested from one of the ladies seated at the section.
“Any problem, sir?” responded the lady who appeared to be in her late twenties, never minded my tender look.
“While looking at my face,” I said. “Do I need to answer that question?”
The three clients who sat before her turned simultaneously, stared at me and were obviously marvelled over my manner of approach in respect of my physical stature, which showcased I could not be more than 20, though I was 23.
The banker, on her part, was equally dumbfounded. “You just walked in and start asking of the manager,” she managed to utter. “What is actually the matter?” she verified politely.
“That your ATM out there had kept me on the ground for almost three hours now,” I frantically disclosed. “Just the moment it got to my turn, everything quenched like fire.” I added, frowning seriously.
Everyone stared at me in silent awe. They were probably astonished over my strong use of words despite my apparent age. Perhaps, they couldn’t believe someone in my age bracket could publicly take control of suchlike English grammar without minding the nature of my immediate environment.
In the varsity, I was a staunch unionist and a dedicated leader of various societies on campus. My unalloyed affiliations to the groups helped tremendously to shape and reshape my personality, social and mental wise. So, I could handle any crowd or gathering without being trapped by any iota of intimidation.
Amidst the persons in the banking hall, I could observe some showcasing their amazement over the level of confidence I was parading myself with by dishing out dazzling smiles on their faces. The reaction of this set of individuals motivated my vigour greatly, thus I thought it wise to ride on with my outburst. “All that matters to me right now,” I continued in a higher tone. “Is to see the manager.”
After the last tantrum, about three of the bank’s protocol officers in uniform walked towards me, and tenderly asked me to calm down, promising someone would come to address the technical hitch immediately. They apparently had understood my actual plight.
“I don’t want anyone again,” I shouted. “All I want now is the manager.” I reiterated, gesticulating with my both arms.
“Calm down, sir,” urged the male banker who sat closely to the lady I was talking to. “Your problem will be solved right now,” he reassured.
“Until I see the manager.” I reechoed, still filled with the fury that emanated from the conversation I had outside with the female Ph.D student who was barely 21.
Before I could finish the last sentence, a gorgeous-looking woman, who seemed to be in her early forties, surfaced at the banking hall; I guessed she came out from one of the offices within, hence, she had been overhearing me all along. “Young man,” she called tenderly as she stepped towards me. “What is it?”
She was clad in a white suit cum white trousers and classy hair style; light-skinned, plump and about 5.45-foot tall.
“This must be the manager,” I thought as I looked into her eyes. “Please ma, are you the manager?” I boldly enquired in a jiffy.
She smiled, looked at me in admiration, as I stood aloof still looked so frank.
Trust me, I was well-dressed. Aside my indisputable level of vibrancy and outspokenness, was invariably so mindful of how I dressed each time I moved out, therefore no one could find me wanting fashion wise, even though I had a few wears to boast of.
“Please, come with me,” she enjoined me, gesticulating, turned and walked towards an office.
I followed her. When we got to the office, she asked me to sit as she resumed her seat. I sat on one of the chairs sited opposite hers. “You haven’t answered me, ma.” I reminded. “Are you the manager?”
“Yes, I am,” she hesitantly replied, nodding. “Are you okay now?” she added.
I managed to smile, although still saddened.
“What’s the problem?” she inquired in false pretences.
I narrated every bit of the trouble to her without minding that she had overheard my sad story when I was at the banking hall. She seemingly shared my pains and pleaded with me to forget about everything.
“Until I receive my money,” I said. “and the interest attached to the inconveniences.”
It seemed at this point, those I left outside at the ATM domain – including the ‘PhD lady’ – were still over there patiently awaiting the resuscitation of the machine.
The Manager smiled. “Please, what’s your name?” she enquired.
“Ben.”
“What do you do?”
“I am a student.”
“Undergraduate?”
“Yes, ma.”
“What level?’
“400.”
“Oh, you are already through!” She exclaimed.
“I am studying a five-year course,” I informed. “I just finished my six months IT.” I supplemented, paused. “I would be rounding off by next year.”
“Alright,” she said, nodding. “What’s your discipline?”
“Telecommunication Engineering.”
She nodded in appreciation. “Ben, I like you,” she eventually confessed. “I admire your smartness and courage.”
“Thank you, ma.” I said. “I appreciate.”
“So, how much do you intend to withdraw?”
“Five thousand naira.”
“Alright,” she said. “Hope you wouldn’t mind, how much do you have in the account?”
I laughed, never wished to disclose my armpit. “Why do you ask, ma?”
“Please, tell me.” she replied, got her gaze fixed on mine. “I have my reason,” she supplemented.
“Okay,” said I. “Twelve thousand naira.” I answered hesitantly.
“Hmm…,” she murmured. “Poor you,” she teased, smiling.
“You can say that again, ma.”
“Well, I will add twenty thousand naira to the account,” she pledged. “And as well give you five thousand naira cash.”
“Waoow..!” I exclaimed, stood up elatedly. “Thank you, thank you ma.” I added.
“You are welcome, my dear,” she responded cheerfully.
She further issued her complimentary card and enjoined me to feel free and call whenever the need be.
Beloved, that’s how my radicalism brought glory to my humble name on that fateful day. Therein, I told myself ‘To hell with PhD, money is everything’.
While leaving through the banking hall, I grinned at the lady at the Customers’ Service corner whom I first walked up to prior to the boss’ appearance, and she stylishly reciprocated. No doubt, considering my countenance, she needn’t be told that the Manager had anointed me right in her office.
Lest I forget, the technical hitch that trapped the ATM was therein fixed by the bank.
The rest is history, please!
Fred Nwaozor
frednwaozor@gmail.com
