They keep pestering the brotha, these fucking ushers. They keep coming back to remind him that there are seats, more comfy seats in the front; that these back pews are reserved for children and nursing mothers. I am sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with the nice-cologne-smelling, flowing agbada-clad, rich-looking dude, but no usher is bothering me, or the other young persons mostly dressed in Jeans and T-Shirts.
What they faill to see, those highfaluting, hypocrite church ushers, is that there are holes in his socks. I can see one of his socks from here and those short-sighted can’t. And I think he’s not as loaded as he looks, because the chic seated to the other side of him had given him her number but he couldn’t even flash back- he lacked credits obviously, as he turned aside (my side) to adroitly load on a N100 glo recharge card.
I took a peak at his wallet that time when he was fishing for a complimentary card for another chic who’d asked for his contact- the wallet was very thin. I saw a few Naira notes of small denominations- N50, N20, N10, N5, N5, N5, and some complimentary cards. The N5 notes could have been more, he’s already put one in the offering envelope, and another one in the Tithe Envelope, and yet another in the Church Building Collection Envelope. He has not touched The Alms For The Less Privilege Envelope yet. By the time he parts with another note he will left with just two N5, with the N10, N20, and N50. I could sum this guy’s worth on the fingers on one hand.
I think this church (which must remain anonymous) should appoint Ibo-female ushers. Only such persons as ushers will be able to do the sum of people’s net and gross worth like I just did with this broke ass brotha. I can’t even judge him, because I get broken sometimes, myself. And I don’t have to blame a brotha, so that I may not be blamed myself. God is watching us.
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