Monday, July 22, 2013

The Flat Iron or Ironing Box?

I do listen to radio but it’s not my hobby as Contestant claimed at the recently concluded Miss Uganda finals. I do listen to Fat Boy’s rants on Sanyu FM and to Val on his Capital FM late show. Transgressing slightly, is Val not a girl’s name? Hmm! Getting back, the other day I while listening to Capital FM, Presenter kept on urging us to get ourselves down to a huge supermarket where we could win prizes if we bought a certain brand of washing powder.


No problem with that except when he mentioned the prizes on offer, he kept on referring to the iron which was one prizes to be won as, a flat iron. That got me thinking. I had always thought an iron was flat but clearly and going by Presenter’s word, there are irons that are not flat. Maybe they have grooves, lines or humps in them? I did take myself down to the said supermarket and all the irons on display were flat. Not one of them had a groove, lines or humps in them. So why was Presenter insistent on referring to the iron as a flat iron?

The story does not end there. Seemingly tired of referring to the iron as a flat iron, after a couple of commercial breaks he then started calling it an iron box. This really irked me, for it necessitated me having to turn the ride around, then look for a parking spot and then having to deal with shoppers who really didn’t know what to buy and were needlessly clogging up the aisles.

In the iron section I looked for the iron box but couldn’t find it. Exasperated I took myself down to the information desk, asked Young Lady where I could find a flat iron or better still an iron box. She took me down to the iron aisle and showed me a selection or rather a brand of irons. The conversation went along these lines:

TB: “Madame, I want the flat iron or the iron box that Presenter was talking about on radio.”

Young Lady: “All the irons we have are flat.”

TB: “Do you have any which are not flat?”

Young Lady: “This is what we have” and promptly walked off.

In a nutshell, an iron is called an iron. It is not a flat iron seeing that all irons are flat and neither is it called an iron box.

Moving on, there is a strange disease that affects waitresses. In Luganda they call it okwe mola mola and the best translation I can give it in English is: “Being there there”. As the ride was being washed, I called her over and she dillydallied herself from the bar to me. And then she did a thing that irked me. She leant on the back of my chair. Of course I gave her a roasting (not the kind of roasting that is done by English Premiership players) but she was unperturbed. She merely smirked and walked off. Then she brought the beer, then had to go back for the glass then had to go back again for the opener. And all this she did as she kew molad her way to and from the bar. For good measure, she gave me an aloof smile each time she came to the table.

But I was being daft for I eventually figured out it was far easier and less taxing if I got my rear off the seat and took myself to the bar to make my order.