Every business has secrets for its success, so they say. Yes, there must be. I mean who wants to do business that is doomed to fail?
I have come to learn, however, that some those successes secrets are quite ruthless and borders evil to say the least.
The other day I was at a drinking joint that has become one of my favourite spots lately when I noticed something rather odd.
At first , I couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong but I was bothered.
I had come to like the place. The services were quick and above all the pretty young maids added touch.
They looked smart in white long sleeve shirts, jet black mini-skirts and stilettos which made them quite a sight to watch.
The uniforms were the same but most the faces were new. “Why, so many changes of personnel?” I wondered.
And like most patrons, I must admit that I have a soft spot for pretty things especially when they happen to be of the opposite gender.
That’s why the first things my eyes inspect at any drinking joint are the waitresses.
To me barmaids bring colour and flavour to pub life. It’s a sort of motivation for the male dominated clientele.
However, some barmaids are not as innocent as their smart uniforms may suggest.
Some these girls are real crooks but that is a story for another day.
So there I sat, wondering why the pub was all of a sudden staffed with new barmaids and the old faces were all, but gone.
I remembered there had been a team of pretty young maids working here. There was one called Sarah who had become quite popular at our corner.
She had this disarming smile that got guys talking. She teased and joked easily with everybody around. But now she was nowhere to be seen.
I asked this giant of a maid who served at our table.
“Where is Sara?”
She looked at me with a blank face before saying she had no idea who that was because she had been employed just a few days ago.
This one serving us today was taller than usual Bongo women, big boobs and endowed with extra-large bums.
By the way she was answering back at customers, “Tulia nakuja.” I sensed from her tone that she was quite rude.
Soon I realised I was not the only one dissatisfied by her snail pace of service. She moved around like a tired hippo in a rice paddy.
“Where did you get this elephant from?” someone shouted at the bar manager as guys around bursted into laughter.
“Kariakoo,” another guy shouted out. Soon jokes about the giant barmaid were flying from every angle of the pub.
“My, my, look at her legs they must be pregnant,” came another joke.
“What about those boobs? I think the manager also uses her for milk.”
The big girl looked frustrated but she didn’t in any way change her sluggish delivery. She looked as stubborn as ever.
Her size I thought gave her all the confidence.
After the jokes had subsided somehow the manager came to the table were we sat.
“Vipi, why have you changed all the barmaids? Look at what you have brought us now” he was asked.
The manager lowered his head and in a soft tone he told me, “The problem with bar patrons they will never get satisfied with types of barmaids. I had to terminate the other girls because you people complained that they were too skinny.”
He posed and looked at the fat waiter, “Everybody kept saying if I wanted business to pick I should employ real Bantu girls with beef.”
“Even if she looks like a pumpkin?” a guy asked amusingly.
“Beef is beef,” the manager replied as he marched off to the counter.
My thoughts wondered back and forth, “So those pretty little girls were fired just because they were skinny!