Radical Thinking

Don’t say you weren’t warned.

    Am I so radical for thinking that people need to give respect to receive it? Can I just go ahead and add that this statement should be true no matter how old you are. I know what you’re thinking; “she has come again with her office woes.” that’s right I blog when I’m angry and I sir, am very angry.
    Remember that moment you realized that those people you feared had absolutely no power over you. You know them; the cool kids, the bullies, teachers with a hunger for discipline but no real aim for bad behaviour, those people who made your life hell. Maybe you made this discovery in college, maybe in high school or if you were really smart and kinda lucky, maybe you achieved clarity in primary school. (My condolences to the rest of you still living under siblings or bosses who take credit for your work, while continuing to make you feel like crap, I pray you break those chains of oppression soon)
    Now it is one thing to be swimming along in a sea of blissful ignorance under a dictator. But once you have seen the light, it’s kinda of hard to go back. It’s been said about me severally (I really hate that word) that I am too Americanized. I have come to realize that “too Americanized” is their code for different, capable of independent thought and the inability to grovel …properly (I sometimes have to beg, but I am constantly being told that I am doing it wrong. Apparently, being sorry yet dignified is no match for the Nigerian standard of ego stroking + speaking in a singsong baby voice + ass kissing*)
    So now imagine my extreme shock face when I started working as a grown up and they attempted to set me back. Wait scratch that, they are not just attempting to set me back, they want to set all peoples back (ALL PEOPLES: including but not limited to females, young people, happy people, single people) at this point we are now identifying ourselves as just angry peoples.

    Their crimes include treating me as less than a person because I am younger
    Me: Please take my seat Mr. (insert name here), never mind that I got to work hours before you. While you are it please have the best computer in the building, never mind the back door deals I made in order to keep this computer in perfect working order, or the fact that the remaining computers are slow because your generation is incapable of safely downloading porn (hint hint, download it at home). Please, I want to run downstairs in my heels and buy you credit and food. Please ignore the fact that I just got in from running all over town and you’ve been sitting around all day. No, I insist sit there and get a bird’s eye view of my Décolletage, when I hand over your credit. It really is my pleasure.
    And let’s not forget the nerve of this one chick that is aching for my pimp hand to be strong.
    Me: let me get this straight, you want me to call you Mrs. (insert husband’s name here) because you are married and have children, never mind the fact that we are age mates and on the same level at work. Oh, you want to go pick your kids and buy groceries, so I should go ahead and finish the work that was given to both of us and sign your name at the bottom. I insist, please go ahead after all I have no life.
    Unfortunately and honestly I have chosen the coward’s solution to this madness because I know that I just can’t argue semantics with these people on the daily. For example I lost an argument last week about Jason Segal’s parentage.
    Me: I love Jason segel!
    Coworker: Wow Steven Seagal has a son who is an actor too!
    me : FacePalm. No Jason Segel not Seagal.
    Coworker gives me a quizzical look.
    Me: How I met your mother… He was in the Muppets, I told everyone to go see it.
    Coworker: We thought you where kidding!
    Other coworker comes up: What’s up? (Yes people still say that in 2012)
    Coworker: some guy named Jason Seagal
    me: (dying inside) Segal, the pronunciation is different
    Other Coworker: Stephen Seagal’s son I’ve heard of him.
    Me: Say what now?
    Other Coworker: he does action like his dad.
    Me: (sarcastically) where did you hear that IMDB?
    Coworkers together: Who?
    Me: you are both journalists, you should be able to look this up.
    They eventually decided that based on the 2:1 ratio of them against me, that they were right and I was wrong. This was after the conversation got deep and they explained to that Americans (like Jason Seagal) sometimes change the spelling of their names to assert their independence against their parents. Which I should know because I’m so Americanish (Still making up words). I must admit that I walked away intact but my faith in IMDB was shaken. So in conclusion being right is no defense against crazy.

Heck, even Muppets know who Jason Segel is! #JustSaying

    Back to my coward’s solution. I basically messup any task I don’t want to do and play up every bad American stereotype. (Sorry America) Whenever something I disagree with comes up, I pretend not to understand and turn up my American accent. Depending on my mood, I’m either a valley girl , Sookie from True Blood or if I’m feelin extra clever, I get pop-culture-referency like Buffy (My gifts are sooooo wasted). Crazy unstoppable force, meet crazy immovable object! That ladies and gents is why I feel so radical. I took a batshit situation and made it, in a word, RAD! Hopefully, there is a future where this insanity will not be needed.

My name is not Shamus but I’m a free radical


*Nigerians brownnosers Modus operandi(patent pending)

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Good Morning Rant

    I’m not sure how things are among Nigeria’s other ethnic tribes but among Yoruba’s there is a definite preoccupation with greeting. I am not talking about the fact that we have a greeting for every imaginable occasion. I was recently introduced to “your own to will come” which is what you say to the chagrin of all singles at a wedding (it would however be ill advised to use it when addressing elders at a funeral but that’s another story)
    What I am referring too is the morning, afternoon and whenever- you-encounter-anyone-older greeting that we are expected to sprout when we encounter people. I get constantly chastised for not adding ‘sir’ or ‘ma’ when I do remember to say good morning. It has often occurred to me to rebut with the fact that what they consider to be a ‘good’ whatever-time-of-day might actually suck for us bottom feeders. But I swallow my rebellion because my mother’s eternal shame is too high a cost than my momentary smugness would warrant.
    I find it particularly insulting when my peers (those of the cousin variety) demand this curtsy. “Hey, I gave you a nod” but no pretend you don’t know that I just woke up and spent half an hour on my knees ‘Oing’ to the excessive greetings of seniors and at least one of them prayed for me to have triplets by the end of the year. Geez get over yourself” I’m not against greeting but people who get no power elsewhere take great pains in getting it from acknowledgement by those of us cursed to be born after them. Seriously wouldn’t you prefer my true respect? Half the time I really did not even see you. Seriously think about it