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Bar Night | Chika Phylix Ptrs

#Fiction
(Apologies in advance for the length. It’s been a while 🙂 )

BAR NIGHT

“Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.”

Ahem. Sorry. I’ve grown fond of that line. And I would like to tell you why. It might seem a little far fetched, but abeg chill with me till the end.

It all started one night at a bar called The Gbadun. Simple enough place really… you come, drink, maybe watch TV or chill with the other patrons, play some snooker or, if you can, find another person to play table tennis with. It was your typical bar that didn’t involve loud music and ludicrous raunchiness, which was pretty much my speed, I tell you. I like The Gbadun a lot, you know. It’s not so hip, and it’s not so razz. Just right, like the last bed that burglar Goldilocks slept on after spoiling the poor bear family’s house.

I’m digressing. Biko, ma binu.

It was a Thursday night, and The Gbadun had a nice number of patrons milling around drinking beer and sharing gist. Some couples were in the mix, so a bit of groping was in the mix. But again, not so raunchy that you’d get intimidated to leave. At The Gbadun, there’s a particular group that happens to find trouble. Now, I can’t really say why the bartender would allow them to do so. Maybe it’s because they were regulars, and somehow they managed to keep a sense of security to the bar.

Anyhoo, these guys decided that their new victim that night would be one average looking guy silently drinking Star Radler at the bar. Why did they want to pick on him? One; he was at the bar — which the guys liked to think was their own designated spot — rather than sitting at one of the small plastic tables littered around. Two; he was taking Radler. Real men take something with at least 7% alcohol, abi? They figured he wasn’t a real man. And the action man of the group, Bruno, decided to let the little guy at the bar know.

Oh… what was I drinking? Heineken. The big bottle. And I was far away from the bar. I don face my own wahala with Bruno and co., so I no want trouble again.

As gallantly as he could, Bruno walked up to the guy and bellowed; “Bros, shey you see where you dey so? Na our place be that o. And you come dey spoil am with this soft drink you dey drink.” People around laughed, and Bruno revelled in the spotlight. Him being so thick headed, any small popularity was good for him. But the guy he was talking to didn’t even look up.

“Ah… Bruno. Kasala don buuuuuuuuuurst,” Brack, the smart one in the group, jeered Bruno. “See as the guy no send you sef. Bruno, na you be this?” There were laughs over this. Feeling embarrassed, Bruno decided to up the ante a bit.

“Ogbeni! You no dey hear say I dey talk to you ni? Make I no woze you slap o!”

The little guy kept sipping his Radler without so much as a glance in Bruno’s direction.

“Guuuuuuuuy,” Brack started again, “See your life under Gulder crate. Yeeeee e don be for you Bruno. E don tasi you finish!”

“Brack… be like say this guy wan chop skibo for here o. Heeeee.”

“Bruno ooooooo, o tasi e gaan! Your life don finish! Gbese for your manhood there!”

Brack, with his sense, is also a loud mouth. If you need fuel added to fire, call him. He’ll bring the whole tanker. He was intentionally stirring Bruno on so oga could act out. Why? I have no idea. Some people are like that I guess. Sha, Bruno was vexing that he even nudged the guy by the bar.

“Eeeeyyyyss. Ogbeni gerrout now,” Bruno hissed.

The guy tried to take another sip from his cup, but Bruno grabbed it and repeated the command. The guy sighed, looked at Bruno, and in a rather small voice said; “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.”

Now, it took me a while, but later on I figured what he meant. See, you can meet your father and say ‘Daddy, I’m marrying Kunle!’ and he’d say ‘Over my dead body!’ Or… you can say you will finish one pot of beans in 25 minutes and your friend would say ‘Make my leg bend!’ or ‘If I hear!’ or something like that. But here was a simple guy, average build, average height… average everything sef, and what he could say was ‘Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.’

Brethren, I confuse that night.
So did everyone else.
Especially Bruno.

Brack however, may have had an idea. Let me tell you that Brack is as smart as Bruno is dumb, and that is something (but if you tell them I said so, omo na deny I go deny my mama join). Anyhoo, Brack did what he does best and fired Bruno up.

“Oh boy… Guy. Im talk say you no fit move am with the bear bear wey dey im face. Bruno your own don finish abeg, go buy Fanta drink!” Everyone laughed at this, and even the bartender that had tried to tell Bruno to take his fight outside couldn’t help but laugh along. But you know what really killed it when Brack talked? Let’s see it again.

“Oh boy… Guy. Im talk say you no fit move am with the bear bear wey dey im face. Bruno your own don finish abeg, go buy Fanta drink!”

You never find am? Let’s reduce small.

“Oh boy… Guy. Im talk say you no fit move am with the bear bear wey dey im face…”

Still wondering? Let me help you.

Shey I told you the guy was average? It extended to his ‘manly’ features. This guy’s chin was smooth. And Bruno had some serious beard action. And Brack had just insulted it. Bruno blew his lid off and tried to attack the little guy. Then something happened so fast it took a while before we deciphered it. But the next thing we heard was;

“YEEEEEEEEEE! MY BLOCKUS O! THIS GUY DON BREAK MY BLOCKUS!!!!”

Bruno went down screaming. Our average guy had landed a direct punch to Bruno’s gonads as Bruno was gearing to slap the guy in the face. It happened so fast we didn’t notice at first. Now that I think about it… I may have heard something crack sef. After the attack, everyone kept quiet. And Bruno was on the floor crying. No, I’m not joking. Bruno was in tears with mucus streaming down his nose. When the guy looked at Brack and the croonies around him, Brack asked one simple question;

“Shey you go like another Radler?”

To which the guy simply replied, “Yes please. Thank you.”

We all became wary of the guy, and Bruno spent about 30 minutes crying before he managed to stand and leave. I heard he later joined a seminary because he became impotent… but that didn’t come from me sha.

I told my family this story, but they no wan believe. Maybe you will instead.

Eh… what’s the moral of the story? Well, I guess if you want to fight someone and they say ‘Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin’, stay humble and run away.

*shrugs* *sips Heineken*

**end**

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