My day with an accountant

    

Today, 26 October 2015. A normal day in the office: the life of an accountant. But I refuse to be described as such. I always thought accountants were dull characters working with tight budgets and in an effort to live this life on a budget they end up not radiating any of it. Turns out I was right.

I was busy reconciling some accounts in the office when my colleagues ambushed me.

 “Hey Class get up!” Lin yelled, halfway across the office some heads popping from their cubicles to follow this new drama. I don’t know what’s with Nairobi people and drama, and especially those poor souls locked up in offices. They are in disconnect with the real world and the only interesting topic of conversation they got going is the exaggerated Maina and King’angi encounters on the morning show. So you would forgive their fat appetite for some action, something (anything) that breaks the rhythm of normal day life.

Lin stormed in followed by Bosire: this guy in client relations with a quirky laugh. One time during an AGM he made this silly laugh that was so infectious a mandatory break had to be called for people to recover from his laughter. And he laughs at the slightest provocations, one of the main reasons I was reluctant to tag along. Lin got to my desk and was now getting impatient,

”Let’s go see this ophthalmologist in town, doctor Fury (not his real name)” she continued “I told you last week”.

Truth is she had mentioned about the meeting, what she had failed to mention is that I was to go alongside her.

Doctor Fury was calm gentleman in his fifties with a simple wardrobe and bifocal glasses that did not even try to fake some sense of fashion.

I had a not so pleasing encounter with this particular doctor after my predictions, like those of the El-Niño had failed to come to pass (oops it just started). To put it in black and white, I had lied to him on a payment date. In my defence however, accountants do that all the time (It is really how they survive). In fact if you encounter a very honest accountant, there is cause to worry.

Lies are a necessary vice, lies are in fact healthy, by telling people exactly what they want to hear, the heart rate slows and this increases the lifespan of individuals. Of course this has not yet been proven but it is a topic in which I Invite future research and the spot Pesa people to come and help make money out of it. So after the date I had promised to pay doctor Fury had passed, He had stormed into our office demanding to see “these stupid accountants” as he had referred to us (me and my fellow accountants). He was so agitated when I entered the boardroom to meet him. I felt it wise to keep my distance, his eyes and muscles were twitching, like he was preparing to land some blows. Again he demanded for a date when this payment would be made, he left me no choice but to do what accountants do best, to lie. I excused myself seek some clarification on the issue but only went up to narrate that ordeal to an eager audience at my desk. I then walked with a fabrication that seemed to cool him down. With all the assurance given he had walked out the same way he had come in.  A gray cloud hanging over him and you could tell he was in fury.

I sat there staring at lin blubber about how I am not serious with my work. I tried to come up with a lame excuse not go before it hit me, this was actually a good opportunity to escape the office environment. After all doctor Fury’s’ account was a complete mess and I felt sorting him out would restore my wounded reputation.

At exactly 10:30 we were in the doctors premises.
Immediately you walked in, you noticed a change in environment. From the fast and hectic city life in the heart of Nairobi where his office is located to a slow and dull surrounding. There were dull green seats fading out to some grey patches that surrounded a wooden reception that rose from the concrete floor.

It felt like we had walked right back into the eighties, the only thing missing were the afros as the monitor on the reception desk had taken care of the black and white great wall television of the era. I was actually surprised not to find a type-writer in the office. The furniture was old if not dilapidated and you hardly noticed any paint on the wall as any remaining trace was evanished. This office felt safe and warm, the result of refusing to conform to modern trends in both furniture and technology. I think this is why he had such a large clientele, he was easy to trust and his look portrayed wisdom.

The receptionist had a knee length floral skirt that matched the mixture of roses and lilies on the reception desk (no doubt from some suitor). The skirt and the flowers were the only colourful things in that office, and they looked out of place. I feared I would leave that office depressed or having contracted some mental disorder.

We were ushered into what looked like an examination room behind the reception. There was a desk with a computer on the extreme end and a pile of papers scattered on every available space of the desk. There were dusty plastic chairs arranged in a circle at the centre of the room. It was a scene out of the movies, a counselling meeting for people with addiction problems. Right next to the door was a curtained space and it did not take much effort to notice the stuffed papers behind. The receptionist, a lady called Lucy hurried to carefully conceal these mess by drawing the curtains.

As we sat there the accountant was summoned and he apologised for the doctors’ absence as he was attending to clients. I sighed in relief, I did not have to face him today. You did not have to wait for the introductions to know he was an accountant, his looks gave him away. He was the picture that comes to mind when you imagine a typical accountant. He was slender guy with long arms and a pale dark skin.

 What really gave him away was his wardrobe, if you were not particularly keen you would pass him for a part of the office furniture. He wore Grey pants a dull green sweater that matched the seats at the reception. He wore black leather shoes and rimless glasses with lens so thick it magnified his sunken eyeballs. His head had started balding from years of pressure and being buried in paper work. But when he spoke even the heavens stopped to listen. I was marvelled at his eloquence and his diplomatic logic. I found myself smiling at this, I knew most of what he said was a lie but I admired his creativity. We had gone there with the intention of terminating services but in his deep Swahili accent he had us all singing to his tune. He spoke in English at times switching to Swahili to drive the point home. And he worked magic, managing to buy himself more time to sort the issue and switching the blame back to us without us even knowing.

Walking out of the office I found myself contemplating more on the issue. It was a story of almost every college kid. You go to a recognised institution, get good grades and graduate with honours. In the minds of these naive minds is the idea that they will get good jobs with a pay rewarding enough to make you blush from the sight of the pay slip. After all they did go to recognised institutions, it’s all deserved. That is until reality dawns, securing an internship is a hustle. Your guardians have to call in favours. And those firms willing to give a chance are not willing to part with dime for your service. With a bachelor’s degree in procurement, fresh out of campus you find yourself working in the accounts office,@ Njoro hang in there bro, and a pay cheque that drives tears down your face. And while you are there, they work your ass off. When you finally get employed, the work is so hectic that time flies by, before you know it you have over ten years of experience. You have gained the expertise in the field and when a managerial position opens, you apply and you are lucky to get it. You enjoy the position for a few years before you have to retire and when you look back you are not sure to what you did with your life. The firm sucked the life out of you, made you wear dull outfits as they kept you on a pay steady enough to keep you coming back. You are now in that rat race, waiting eagerly for that end month pay. If only someone had emphasised it enough, do what you love, whatever motivates you to get out of bed in the morning. In the words of Charles Bukowski My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.

When came to from that deep thought, I realized how that encounter had inspired the writing of this blog.