“I’ll have a chicken sandwich please.” I scanned through my wallet looking for a 50Taka note.
“And a cup of lemonade?” the young boy asked almost already heading towards the refrigerator. He seemed to have memorized my food and drink orders; the same way the security at the school parking lot had memorized my School I.D and car registration numbers. I guess those where the perks or pitfalls of being one of the very few black students in an Asian school.
“Yes please” I smiled, going for the 100Taka note instead. “Dhonnobad” I thanked him proudly as he handed me my tray and tissue. That was one of the very few Bangla words I had learned and I looked for every opportunity to use it.
Now I have so many friends on and off campus, but when my friends are not around, I do enjoy very much the serenity of a quiet after-class snack. I’d sit alone with my earphones on; rock, rap or hip hop beating my ear drums, as I swallowed away in imagined ecstasy…but not today…Today, I met Aisha; an appellation supposedly befitting because I always loved that name. “May I join you?” She asked in an accented musical voice; typical of South East Asian girls. Usually I’ll just eat quietly and leave or if the other person indulges me in a conversation, I’ll nod a few yeses and say a few no’s long enough to get me through my snack break. I decided to actually have a decent chat with Aisha though; I’d say I don’t know why, but that will be a lie; and no matter how shallow it may seem; I knew the reason; she was pretty.
“So, what state are you from?” she asked when she was settled; batting her eyes probably flirting with me.
“Yes, what state from the USA are you from?”
“Oh I am not from the US.” I answered; a grip of guilt garroting me for feeling flattered.
“You are not? Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not; I am from Cameroon.” I said paradoxically in an almost American accent.
“Camer what? Where is that? In Africa?”
“Urm ya.” I responded, throwing in an almost obviously fake grin, trying hard to conceal my increasing exasperation. How could she not know Cameroon?!
“That’s good then. You see I have been learning Afrikaans and I’d like to improve, if you’d let me speak with you. Can you help me?” She said, hardly recognizing that her dumb questions were already getting to me.
Afrikaans? What the Hell! So because I am from Africa I should speak Afrikaans? Most Cameroonians don’t even know the first thing about Afrikaans numskull.
I was going to say that, but hey chivalry; so instead I laughed and said “I don’t speak Afrikaans” and I could not help but notice the confused look on her pretty face.
Sandwich was finished but the conversation wasn’t; she relentlessly bringing up this topic, and then that one. We’ll laugh, me, probably more than her, in a bid to conceal my ever still increasing irritation with every new topic. I hate stereotypes; but the only thing I hate more than stereotypes, are people who proved the stereotypes right; like she was doing; trying to prove that pretty girls are dumb. She was sure I was flirting back; laughing at all her “jokes” and even the ones she didn’t mean as jokes. I was probably trying too hard.
“Are you flirting with me?” she asked flirtatiously, smiling approvingly.
“What kind of girls do you like?” she went on “because I don’t do guys I just met.” She tossed her incredibly long dark hair playfully.
“I see. Well, I am sapiosexual” I said
“What? What does that even mean?” she asked, her face giving away her state of total oblivion, and thought that I might be the newest freak in town.
“Don’t worry honey” I smiled arrogantly “if you have to ask the meaning of sapiosexual…you are probably safe.”
Howard M-B Maximus
***In case you were wondering what a sapiosexual was…
What are your favourite sapiosexual quotes?
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