Entry #62 – Couching Blogger, Hidden Laptop

I feel like I’ve been on the longest holiday ever…away from WordPress, that is. I’ve been focusing more on other aspects of my life in recent weeks and the demon of Procastination has been deterring me from adding new entries to my blog. Well, so much for the demon…I’ve exorcized him like Constantine and finished him off with a roundhouse kick – Haiii ya!

 Speaking of movies, I believe I am officially the last person in Lagos to have finally watched Avatar last weekend. I feel so behind with movies. You would think that the Avatar clock on the right-hand side of this blog would imply I had seen the movie at least 5times (fooled you all, hehe!). I must say, it was worth the delay…the story line, the action, the cast, the love scene…ok, the love scene could have been better. I believe this movie would have beaten The Blind Side if they had done justice to the Avatar love scene. Yes, if Jake Sully (in human form) made love to Netiri then James Cameron would’ve probably cleaned out the Oscars. I guess the only dilemma would be how to make a cripple mating with an 8ft blue alien with a tail look convincingly romantic. Anyway, the ending leaves more to be desired…but it does take care of the ‘mating’ puzzle!

 Straight after Avatar (as if I had not already gotten a high enough dosage of Sam Worthington) I decided to watch Clash of the Titans. Quite frankly, the original and even Jason and the Argonauts (2000) were far better. Medusa wasn’t scary-looking at all. The build-up to Medusa was perfect until I saw how pale she was. She should have looked dark green or dark grey with no pupils or cat eyes and razor sharp teeth – imagine waking up next to that in the morning. The killer scorpions were too big (the director should have stuck to about 7ft). The Craken definitely wasn’t the climax it was ‘craked’up to be either. What would it have costed the director just to wait a month or two for Sam’s hair to grow long a bit? He looked ridiculous as the only guy in the movie who appeared to have stepped back in time (equipped with his pair of Wahl clippers) and sporting a shaven head. That just killed it for me instantly. Where was the romance between Persius and Andromeda? This remake is a good guide on how NOT to do remake. As far as getting my money’s worth I’d say that for the ridiculously low cost of the N200/$1 bootleg copy I got (yeah yeah, shame on me), it still wasn’t worth it – It was just…er…worthington!

Next time I’ll get some hot buttered popcorn and some wine gums to get me through my movie binge. Rediscovering my laptop has almost been like resuming school after a summer break – yep, it kinda sucks. But I do love my leather couch. It’s stolen the best part of my time from WordPress and is beckoning me now………Must…resist…the coziness……Need to keep typing…can’t go on much longer…ass-to-cushion attraction at 85%…situation critical…attempting evasive manouvre…shit! May day! Mayday!…The ass is going down, I repeat, The ass is going down!!! Do you copy??? 😀

Entry #58 – My 100th Post!

Phew! It has been a long but exciting ride for me on WordPress.com. I’ve learnt a lot from the website and from fellow bloggers. I’ve tapped into a subconscious being within and given it a voice…a home…some fans…some critics…and some friends. I’ve been able to view the visitors that have stumbled upon my blog from all over the world thanks to Feedjit. I’ve been able to see the popularly viewed posts and pages via my Dashboard. This post would have been more memorable if it was posted on the day I got 5000hits on my blog (4714 at the time of this post). Well, the bubbly is cooling in the fridge so that leaves me some time to think about how to make this post a memorable one.

I could recall things I’ve said in the past that I wished I hadn’t: Like telling a girl at Uni that I liked her moustache (it wasn’t overly prominent but since I was drunk at the time it became astonishingly more visible); or I could write about the time I had a face-off with my car (yes, my car) as I stood with the car-remote for close to 10mins pressing the lock button only for the car to lock and unlock simultaneously (what I didn’t realize was that the boot was open and the car in its ‘car-speak’ was trying to tell me ‘Look, you moron! I aint f***ing locking this car until you go and shut my f***ing boot!) ah…good times; that same night I was unfortunate enough to have locked myself out after taking out the trash (the kind of thing that happens to bloggers who get lost in thought).

Or what about the time I was frying an egg and was careless enough not to realize that I put a little too much oil in the pan and the oil was exceedingly hot – the result? Egg drops into the pan, oil splashes out of the pan…and straight into my right eye! Hmm, what were my words at that time…I believe they something like ‘Aaaaaaaaah shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!!! God please…not my eye (washing my eye out frantically in the kitchen sink while my ‘sunny-side up’ was fast becoming a ‘black-hawk down’). Thankfully there were no scars…just tears…of joy (I swear! I can see! I can see!).

And what about the time one of my so-called friends talked me into taking on a 7ft bouncer? The turning point of this particular face-off must have been in the basement-style niteclub when 2 of the bouncer’s mates (beefcakes compared to my two puny mates) arrived and then he went, ‘LOCK THE DOOR!’ (need I tell you I made a run for that door like my life depended on it). The whole incident started when the bouncer shoved me while I was distributing promotional flyers for my upcoming club gig (this was about 5 years ago whilst in the UK). I wasn’t hurt by my 2 mates wanted vengeance. In the end, we talked the talk and shortly after we walked the walk (who am I kidding – I ran like hell!); Oh! I almost forgot about my bubbly in the fridge!

I guess this would be as good a time as any to make a toast (raises glass of juice…only because I know you wouldn’t really believe I would open a bottle of MOET to celebrate 100posts on my blog). I’d like to make a toast -” To another 100posts in the near future. With any luck this blog will blossom into something bigger than I could ever imagine, and at the very least this blog would remain on the World Wide Web for the Whole Wide World to see long after I make an exit – The Crazy Nigerian will live on…cheers!” 😀

Legend of the Lost Follicles

They were curly. They were jet black. They were about 4inches in length when stretched. At the tender age of ten I was quickly able to manipulate their direction by harnessing the power of the Comb; and so, like sheep to a shepherd they obeyed my every command. Back then I could boast having over a billion in my possession. Now I have barely a million left. What happened? Was this some kind of curse? Was this the evil work of my arch-enemy, Genetics? Today the silence is broken as I embark on a quest to discover what really happened to the follicles that once crowned my fertile scalp.

 From my second year at primary school I was the Lord of the Afro. I had a few worthy competitors but none could keep theirs as rounded and silky-soft like mine. I understand now why girls spent a long time in the bathrooms. I would admire my curly black locks and think, ‘Mirror Mirror on the wall/ Whose is the fullest fro of them all?’ And my imaginary response from the mirror was, ‘Yo dawg! You sport the meanest, bad-ass, afro on the f***ing planet!’. However, something went terribly wrong in my sixth year. It was an accident at the barbershop and it was an experience that I will never forget.

After school one fateful day I was escorted by mum to the guillotine. How I wish it was my head that was chopped off – that would have been quick and pretty painless. I sat in the black leather chair and watched as the female hairstylist cleaned the clippers she planned to execute my beloved possession. I remember my mum giving her specific instructions: ‘Make it low but not too low’. Ok, perhaps this could be likened to the How long is a piece of string – dilemma. It was a conspiracy and I think my mum and the hairstylist were in on it together. The mirror was so high up that I couldn’t see what the f*** she was doing. She was having some mindless gossip session with her colleague and I just watched chunks of fluffy black follicles rain down before my eyes…and the chunks got smaller and smaller until…my mum eventually came to my late rescue shouting, ‘WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?’ I went from Gary Coleman to ‘Scary Old-man’ in 10mins flat. My mum said it wasn’t that bad but when I beheld the horror in the mirror I looked pretty much like…a dick, to be brutally honest. I found one of my dad’s golf caps and I tried it on to hide my baldness – now I looked like a dick with a cap on.

The next day at school would be a real test of my guts. Could I get away with wearing a cap throughout the day without being confronted by any of the teachers about it? Fat chance. I barely made it through the first hour of Mathematics when the teacher told me to take my cap off. I hesitated. He repeated it and promised to flog the living daylights out of me if I didn’t (and believe me, that guy could flog a dead horse back to life). I slowly reached for my cap and I after I took it off nobody really paid attention to the Long Division Technique on the blackboard. My classmates were jeering and pointing at my perspiring, glowing head. I don’t think I looked at anybody in the face for more than 3seconds that day. I didn’t go for recess, but that didn’t help. Some just stayed back to pick on me even more. I was called all sorts of names. It was the giggling and whispering amongst the girls that really pissed me off. I was a 4ft walking microphone…with arms.

Alas, my tale is far from over. My head would not remain a shiny, opaque crystal ball forever. My hair would grow back like Samson in the bible (and then I‘d push the pillars of my school building apart so that the concrete came crashing down on all those who mocked me!!! – nah, not really). I would regain my crown and join the big leagues again with Soul4Real, Craig Mack, Undercover Brother and The Nutty Professor…

Entry #56 – Hit and run

The (Black) Chery A520

2days ago I was driving back home in my black Chery after work in the evening when I encountered an overzealous motorpsyhcolist motorcyclist  at a roundabout. I was well on my way to detour into my street when the bike decided to cut across at the last minute. It was a very close shave. I braked suddenly and the motorcyclist also swerved to avoid a head-on collision. However he scampered unto a nearby kerb in the process and lost balance – both he and his male passenger stumbled to the ground. I, on the otherhand, sped off!

Technically I didn’t hit the bike or its passengers so could this really be called a Hit and Run? I think the appropriate expression would be Brake and Run – that’s what I did. The reason why I ran is that Lagos motorcyclists can be notorious for their guerilla justice i.e. ganging up with other motorcyclists and then outnumbering Poor You. Before you know it, stories are being fabricated against you and everything you say is a lie. Your car could be vandalized and you could even be picked up by LASTMA (these road marshalls are the equivalent of the Gestapo around these parts).

Sincerely speaking, if I had made contact with the bike I would have stopped and parked off the road to attend to the pseudo-casualties. I had the right of way and the bike cut across, jumping a red light. Well, I’m sure the motorcyclist and his passengers were okay. It’s not like they lost balance on the main road and got trampled upon by uncoming motorists. Now that would have been a sight…yikes!

Lagos Life – A guide to choosing stuff

Grab your trolley and lets go shopping around for…stuff in Lagos, Nigeria. I’ll show you the top choices of the average Lagosian but note that the list is not exhaustive.

Mobile phone network/line:

  • MTN
  • Zain
  • Glo
  • Starcomms
  • Visafone

Bank account opening:

  • GTB
  • Zenith
  • UBA
  • First Bank
  • Stanbic IBTC

Eateries:

  • Tasty Fried Chicken
  • Barcelos
  • Nandos
  • Big Treat
  • Mr. Biggs

Alcohol/Beer:

  • Star
  • Guinness
  • Gulder
  • Heineken
  • Satzenbrau

Malt drinks:

  • Malta Guinness
  • Maltina
  • Amstel Malta
  • Maltex
  • Power Malt

Chinese cuisine:

  • Jade Garden
  • Golden Gate
  • Mr. Wang’s
  • China Town
  • Flamingo

Flat Screen TVs:

  • LG
  • Samsung
  • Sony
  • Phillips
  • Panasonic

Cable/Satellite Television

  • DSTV
  • HiTV
  • MiTV

Cinemas:

  • Silverbird (V.I & Yaba)
  • Shoprite
  • City Mall

Generators:

  • Honda Elemax
  • Tiger
  • Hyundai
  • Mikano
  • Suzuki

Domestic airlines:

  • Virgin Nigeria (soon to be ‘Eagle Flyer’)
  • Aero Contractors
  • Arik
  • Dana Air
  • Chanchangi

Recreational centres:

  • Ikoyi Club
  • Lagos Country Club
  • The Beach (Island)
  • Shoprite, Lekki
  • Metropark

Bars/Nite Clubs:

  • Soul Lounge (News Cafe)
  • Club Towers Prive
  • Black Pearl
  • Bacchus (formerly ‘11.45’)
  • 10 (JJ Okocha’s)

Okay, that’s enough shopping for one day. Let’s proceed to the checkout! Show me the monaaay!!!

Entry #54 – Don’t panic…it’s only a card!

…my examination card, that is. After leaving the examination centre yesterday I could have sworn it left with me and got into my car as I drove home. I was gravely dissappointed when I started looking through my folder close to 15times. I must have checked the ins and outs of my car to the point that a passerby would have thought I was clearly under the influence of some class-A drugs…or that I was looking for a stash of the same.

What can I say? I’m careless. And so the inevitable torture cycle begins:

Anxiety – Which I’ve already pointed out. Accelerated heartbeat, dry mouth, struggling to study for the next exam…reading the words but they’re just not sinking in (because you lost you’re f***ing examination card, that’s why)

Time-travel – Retracing my steps (in my mind) and seeing that card when it last rested between my fingers…yes, I could see myself dropping it on a table as I submitted my answer sheet. The invigilator must be keeping it safe for me…yay! 😀

Doubt – What if I took it out of the exam centre, carelessly dropped it outside the premises before I zoomed off and its sitting by in an algae-infested gutter somewhere with my passport pic getting a slimy makeover? nay! 🙁

Self-blame – Well there’s no one else to blame but me. It was all my fault, no blonde-girl distraction, no ice-cream truck, and certainly no facebook mobile update. This was pure, unadulterated, crazy nigerian- carelessness!

And after all this what comes next? What other ordeal do I need to go through in order to move on with my life?

Hope?. I hoped I would still be let into the exam centre the following day to do the exam anyway (even though entry without the card is strictly forbidden). I hoped that I could probably bribe one of the invigilators with a stripper (or two) if that was what was required. I hoped I would look in my folder for the 16th time and maybe, just maybe, I would mysteriously find it. I did a lot of hoping…but no, the answer was Prayer, and at precisely 8am today (an hour before the exam) I had an epiphany.

I was staring at the same page of my study pack for the last 20mins (quietly worrying) when something said to me ‘Look again around the passenger’s seat and look carefully this time’. I pulled the lever underneath and pulled the chair forward and at the side of the chair facing the car door, a white half-A4 sized card stuck out. ‘HALLELUJAH! Thank you Lord, God thank you thank you thank you I love you….oh man…whooo!…where’s my phone…Mum, guess what? I found it!…’

Well let’s say that the words I read started to sink in a bit better and now that my exams are over all I can do is sit and wait…ok…sit, blog and wait 😉

Entry #52 – The bullet in my bathroom

Just when I thought life was becoming a little bit boring and predictable I experienced a sudden rush of adrenaline 2 nights ago around 8pm when I heard a loud bang in my bathroom. There wasn’t any electricity at the time and I was alone in my flat. I walked past the bathroom (which serves as a spare for guests and is separate from my ensuite) and for a second I thought it was a gun-shot. The next I thought was that my sink had fallen apart or the shower curtain rail came crashing down…but surely it must have been a fire cracker or something. With the light from my Nokia E75 I sneaked into the bathroom and inspected the surroundings and then I tripped on something metallic. I picked it up and at first I thought it might have been part of a heavy duty nail but on closer inspection I realized it was a bullet.

The first thing I would have done at this point is call in the CSI (Las Vegas) team to do their nifty forensic work. I would let Grisham bamboozle me with words like ‘Trajectory’ and ‘Ricochet’ and the watch them as they scamper around looking for the ‘Entry point’. That night I barely slept because I felt this wasn’t random. I’ve lived in this flat for close to 6months and nothing like this has ever happened. I couldn’t help but ask myself, ‘Was someone trying to kill me?’

I had a mental list of people I suspected I had ticked-off and probably wanted my blood as payback:

  1. My recent ex-girlfriend – Looks innocent but is capable of something like this now that I think about it.
  2. My neighbour – I told her off for shouting like she was the only one living in the compound going ‘MAAARIAAA!!!’ repeatedly
  3. The Security Guard’s mate – They wine and dine with my security guard outside the compound and I don’t like the dodgy ‘I kill you!’ looks I get from them sometimes.

I found later the following day that there was a hole in my bathroom ceiling. Part of  the shape was an exact replica of the bullet lying horizontally. I expected the shape to be round. There were no holes in my window or walls so I got Googling…asking the seemingly dumb question, ‘Can a bullet go off by itself?’

I was pleasantly suprised indeed when I came across the following answer from Yahoo! Answers: “No. Something has to make contact with the primer or cause the primer to get really hot. Dropping or hitting a round, or throwing it into a fire can cause it ignite.”  So it was actually possible for the bullet to have just gone off without being in a gun chamber. By the looks of the photo above, the bullet must have been lying flat when it suddenly penetrated the ceiling unto my bathroom floor. So how could this be explained further?

If you observe in the diagram opposite, my bullet is very similar and there is actually a primer at the back of the bullet (labelled ‘5’). What could have triggered it? Heat? If so why didn’t it go off in the peak of the hot afternoon? Why in the evening after dark? Could a mouse or rat have been tampering with the primer before the bullet went off? I didn’t see any rodent body parts or blood around the crime scene. This bullet just descended by its own free will.

Thankfully I wasn’t doing a ‘Number 2’ when this near-homicide took place. Just imagine, being found dead with a bullet in your head, pants halfway down, toilet unflushed and no trace of a killer. That’s what I call a freak accident – Perhaps this can be used for the next Final Destination movie installment ( …I think they should be working on part 5 now.) But this begs the question, what kind of tenants where living in this apartment before I moved in? Drug barons?, Assassins? Ex-military mercenaries? Are there anymore bullets lying up there in my ceiling. Even worse, is there gun cache up there? a dead body? If I start to smell something funny (and I know it’s not me) then I’m going up there to investigate…

 

N.B – That black spot in the celing is the bullet hole…crikey!

Entry #51 – Plan C

In ‘Operation Daybreak’ (the 1975 World War II film based on the true story of the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich in Prague) the 2 spies behind the assassination were in for a nasty surprise when their plans went terribly wrong. The first attempt to shoot their target on a moving train was a bit of a stretch but then came Plan B but would you believe that even with one of the spies standing a few feet from his target pointing, eye to eye,  with a fully loaded semi-automatic the unexpected happened…

I believe that no matter what you plan to do there is a probability that due to life’s unforeseen circumstances your plan wont always work exactly as you expected – that’s not a pessimistic perspective I’m just being realistic. Look at Weddings, for example. I hear such things as ‘the perfect wedding’ and here I’m not referring to the ‘wedding you dream to have’…I’m talking about ‘making sure every single thing goes according to plan. You could wake up late on the wedding day (perhaps your slept through your alarm), or you could be down with a cold or an upset stomach (especially if you had the dodgy curry last night), the car you’re supposed to take doesn’t start, or it rains cats and dogs, or you stain your rented tuxedo, or the bride and the bridesmaids  arrive late, or the 3 year-old ring bearer boy decides it would be fun to swallow the wedding ring…the list of unfortunate events is indeed endless.  

What you might have observed in my examples is that it’s not always just other people that could let you down…YOU can let yourself down (e.g. you slept through your alarm, remember?). So whenever you have something big planned you need to have a back-up plan or what is more commonly known as a ‘plan B’. Such contigency plans are priceless tactics employed by just about every meticulous government, tycoon, stockbroker, wedding planner, boxer (well, in the case of Tyson Vs. Holifield I do not condone biting a chunk of our opponent’s ear when you’re losing)…you get my drift? You need to think of the worst thing that could possibly happen to ruin your plans and then plan for it and be sure that as much as possible your plan is air-tight, blunder-proof, anti-Enron…but is that enough? surely if I set my alarm on my mobile phone (which I will be charging overnight and is preset on the highest, most irritating tone and volume level) then I don’t need to do anything else, right? WRONG.

There is of course Plan C and the best part about this plan is (not the obvious fact that it takes care of the shortfalls of Plan B, duh) this plan makes you want to say, ‘well, why the hell did I bother with plan B in the first place?’ Ah, yes plan C is a thing of beauty, a work of art…only the brilliant minds can pull off one of these…but I beg to differ. Plan C’s usually require a third party that you can count on with your life. I’m talking ‘Bonnie & Clyde’ loyalty here. We all must have at least one person who wont let us down no matter what and you never know…someone might be relying on you to be their Plan C. Enjoy the ambush clip from Operation Daybreak to see how it went down…

Plan C…because Plan B’s not always enough.

Entry #50 – From Con artists to Terrorists?

There’s something about the suffix ‘ist‘ that just really leaves a bad taste in my mouth – words like Racist, Facist, Schauvinist, etc. But just as my country is desperately trying to bleach out the stubborn stain of corruption from its reputation some Nigerian decides to  give America a reason to tag us  ‘terrorists’.

First of all, the American government’s decision gives me cause to tag them ‘extremists’. But that aside history has shown that Nigeria and its indigines have shown more interest in making money. Subdivide that and then you have those who choose to make money legally and those who want to make (quick) money illegally. This second group are  commonly known as fraudsters or con artists. In recent times they have been taking advantage of the technological age and all those who’ve been less fortunate to grasp it in its ever increasing pace. In Nigeria we have just as many victims as there are perpetrators of online fraud alone. Setting one’s pants/trousers on fire to detinate an explosive substance doesn’t quite appeal to the average Nigerian – I mean, what exactly is the pay off?

If I’m to be really objective about how possible it is for Nigerians to be branded ‘terrorists’ then I’d say that in the northern region of Nigeria there have been some acts of terror so to speak. Extremist muslims, or to put it mildly, religious fanatics who’ve taken their belief too far and decided to impose it on the rest of us – refusal to which you could (but not necessarily) expect a Jihad a.k.a certain death to the unbelievers…the sinners…the obstacles that separate them from their eternal paradise. Be it as it may the fact remains that these religious wars take place within Nigeria and may well take place anywhere else in the world. Perhaps all it takes is just one terrorist act committed by a non-citizen of a country and then that citizen’s country gets to be labelled a Terrorist. I didn’t come across that in anywhere in the American constitution or in any constitiution for that matter!

Probably the mere presence of the word ‘Terrorist‘ in this article and the recurrence of the word over 10times (and remember, straight from a computer located in Nigeria) is sending the American Intelligence into a frenzy. All I need to do now is google for cheap flight tickets to Yemen and I bet the CIA will be on red alert. Don’t forget my blog title, Nigerian Interrupted, is not helping matters either!

In ‘other news’, I want to make reference to one of the biggest con artists in Nigeria to have been exposed by the EFCC (Economic and Financial Crimes Commission – a Nigerian Govt organization). She is the former MD of Oceanic Bank, Cecilia Ibru, who embezzled bank funds and acquired…wait for it…N399bn worth of assets all around the world (www.thisdayonline.com). She has property, estates and shares mostly in fictitious company names and also in some of her relative’s names. Nigerian con artists have been in the game for as long as I can remember. I personally doubt that we’ll see another Nigerian terrorist plane bomber anytime in the next decade.

…And one final point: if anyone wants to point the dreaded finger of blame at the muslim community, the American Airline, or the radicals in Yemen, then think hard about what role the parents played (or avoided) in nuturing Mullatab (talk about a Nigerian interrupted indeed) and monitoring his behaviour. I blame the parents, period.

Entry #47 – Remember September

chaseWell how can I forget September 2008 when my bank was having its financial year end (which in the Nigerian Banking industry means every bank starts to scramble around for large money deposits in order to claim the no.1 spot for having the largest liability base…the grand prize being that you get to keep your job!).

I remember how fellow colleagues would genuinely fall ill with stress, some with high blood pressure, and why? All because they got SMS/text messages at odd hours of the day (including weekends) from bosses who taunt them to AGGRESSIVELY PURSUE current accounts and fixed term deposits or to REALIZE GROWTH in their account portfolio. I remember when each week would be inundated with impromptu meetings – meetings with other bank branches’ marketing team and their respective managers. Such gruelling sessions were like the ‘Show and Tell’ in Elementary/Primary School…only, you were showing to the whole audience how you planned to leap from a balance sheet of N100m (One Hundred Million Naira) to N250m in under 3weeks. I remember the tall tales marketing staff used to tell…stories of fat cheques that were due the following week…and then the following week…and then the following week. I remember how they had to defend their jobs by justifying why they should still be paid their salary.

I remember how the boldest and most confident of marketers would suddenly be reduced to a bucket of nerves as they stuttered through their cock and bull Deposit Mobilization strategies. Of course their bosses were quick to ridicule and threaten them with a letter of displeasure – that’s a prelude to a sack, in simple English. I remember how some marketers avoided the subsequent meetings especially when the millions they promised the previous week never materialized. Oh, how I remember how some banks would accept to pay to willing Fixed Deposit customers outrageous rates well above that of the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) and in some cases staff would make up the interest difference from their own personal funds to pay to the oblivious, greedy customer. I remember the pressure got so much that you could cut the tension in bank branches with a knife. You were almost driven to the point of holding customers at gunpoint just so they took you more seriously and coughed out the millions that we so stupidly thought they were hiding at home under their matresses.

I remember how some marketing staff would encourage their known customers to move funds from competitor banks into ours. Even worse was when a branch within the bank moved funds from another bank branch, meaning the bank as a whole wasn’t actually growing but suffering a bout of indigestible cannibalization of accounts. I remember hearing stories of female marketers who would ‘stoop so low’ just to get a measly million into their account portfolio…and in some unfortuante cases were given dud cheques: a classic Lose-Lose situation.

I remember how the month would draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag and your demanour was truly tested. Some who couldn’t take the heat or the humiliation any longer dropped their resignation letters and stayed at home waiting for the grass to get greener somewhere else…anywhere else. I remember how some skilled marketers would turn on the waterworks when a customer came into the branch to make a portfolio-shattering withdrawal in this ’ember’ month. I remember how I almost uttered to my superior ‘What are YOU doing to ensure that we grow our deposit base? Show me YOUR prospect list! How much money have YOU brought today? How many phone calls have YOU made? Why should the bank still be paying YOUR salary???’ I remember it all too well and now I have another 13days to go before I can even begin to forget September 2009. “Lord, give me strength…”