Martins ran into the Coffee Cafe Bar, terribly hungry.
He wore a black designer singlet, a faded black jeans trousers, and a black face cap to match.
He looked around, saw a waiter that was attending to some customer, went to him, and dragged him to the place he, Martins, would be using to drink.
‘ Guy, I no need plenty talk. I dey hungry’, Martins announced as he sat on the bench, and tapping his hands as he felt the pang of hunger again.’ Find me something to chop now now now’.
‘ Good morning sir’, the waiter greeted him with a soothing baritone voice.
‘ Welcome to out special cafe. What would you like to have?’He asked as he read out a long list of drinks from a pad he was holding, ‘ fruit Juice? Yogurt? Wine? Beer? Coffee? Or Tea’.
‘ I need Tea… Hot tea’, Martins replied with a clenched fist.
‘ Lipton Tea? Green tea?’.
‘ Give me Lipton tea. That yellow label one’.
‘ How do you want it; sir, Black or white’.
‘ Milk or flavour’.
‘ Goat milk or Cow milk’.
‘ Problem ooo. Cow milk’, his eyes widening in frustration’.
‘ Fritzland cow or Afrikaner cow?’, the waiter asked again.
Martins stood up, his hand spread in great frustration.
‘ Guy why?’, he shouted. The waiter made motion for him to reduce his voice.
‘ No…No… I go shout… Person dey hungry you dey do incantation… I wan chop’.
‘ Sorry sir’, replied the waiter, smiling’ please have your seat’.
Martins sat, hissing and breathing hard.
‘ So, sir do you want the tea with sweetener , honey or sugar’.
‘ Just put sugar’.
‘Brown sugar, yellow sugar or white sugar’.
‘ Sugar… Every sugar no be sugar….’, he paused, eyed the waiter, ‘ common forget am, give me glass of water’.
‘ Okay sir. Mineral water or distilled water’, the waiter asked again, reading from the pad.
‘ Water too, you dey… ‘, Martins became short of words, he paused, swallowed hard and felt like rushing at this waiter,’ give me mineral water’.
‘Flavoured or not flavoured’.
‘ The water…’, Martins shouted, rose from the seat and sat back,and then rose again, ‘ common, give me empty glass’.
‘ Ok sir, Do you want tumbler,wine glass, Champagne cup, or beer glass.
Martins eyes roamed the restaurant, the pang of hunger striking his fragile stomach, he felt like crying. He gritted and bit his lower lips to the extent that drop of blood came out of it as the waiter recited the type of cups again.
‘ Go… I go swallow my spit’, he said as he pushed the waiter away.