In case you were wondering, I am now doing Executive Banking.
I’ll give you a few seconds to let that sink in.
So this is how the 1% live?
In most ways, they are different. For instance, they never talk about us. That is the main difference.
Are you talking about Ashioya right now? Yes. Is Ashioya talking about you? No. Ona sasa? This stuff writes itself.
Being poor is like being a child. Being rich is like being an adult: you get to do whatever you want. Everyone is nice when they have to be; rich people are nice when they feel like it.
Money also buys privacy, silence. The less money you have, the noisier it is; the thinner your walls, the closer your neighbors. What? You didn’t hear me? How could you and your neighbour is fighting with sufurias now..?
Tap your neighbour and say “Ashioya akipata pesa?”. Oya sanitize your hands let’s continue.
Why am I telling you this? Is that what you want to know?
Well first of all, I identify as a rich man. I don’t care what my bank account says.
That Executive air was clean in there. I had dirty thoughts about Wabosha, oga, they were cleaned abi! Even their POS machines were noiseless. And immediately, the Teller, nay, the Executive Butler, spoke to me in Victorian English. And so begun the delicate dance.
I was offered a platter. Listen, I’m a bachelor and times are hard so of course you know I couldn’t turn down food. It’s hard to take the streets out of the boy. I helped myself to two plates because God only helps those who help themselves.
What’s my problem? Is that what you want to know?
I understood long ago that it is better to be rich and miserable than poor and miserable. For the record, I am not miserable. Let no one fool you, money may be the root of all evil but being poor is not holy. I would have ordered a Geisha complete with a happy ending but I am not greedy. We rich people believe in moderation.
Even the music alone itself was classical. No Katerina nanzenz. “ Ati sijui baby cheza kidogo..?”
“Who would have thought Chinedu would be in Executive Banking?”
Who would have thought? Me. I did.
Excuse me while I have a moment.
There is a metonym for that: money. Our here is where the money is, and to be perfectly blunt about it, I want to be rich. I don’t know what your aspirations are, or what your views are about punctuation, but I am aiming for the three comma club.
You go to the bank, I do Executive Baking – we are not the sane.
No, I won’t back off.
I didn’t always want to be a humble writer. I still don’t.
For every successful man there’s always a poor man who says, “I went to school with him” (Aristotle, 399 B.C.)
By the way — and I am not exaggerating — they asked if I wanted to advise Ouru on The Rona but I’m a busy man. I was to walk home after that but I ordered an Uber, just because.
Besides what use is Fuck You money if you never get to say fuck you?