The Day the Nigerians Tried to Kill Me

Selling copiers in New York City, literally every day is a new adventure.  One moment you could be at a Fortune 500 company on Wall Street; and the next some hole in a wall organization in the Bronx, set up to teach old retired street whores how to read.  There’s literally no telling where the day might lead.  Once without knowing; I was accidentally scheduled an appointment with, what ended up being the New York branch of the KKK.  Boy were they surprised to see my Black ass walk in.  However, being the consummate professional; I actually still ended up selling them three copiers that day.  In fact I gave them such a great deal, that the grand wizard himself even walked over to me and said, “Son, thank you kindly.  And if you weren’t a coon chassin’ nigger…I’d actually shake your hand.”  Strangely enough, I was actually kind of touched.  I guess you just had to be there.  Today was definitely one of those days as well.  After months of trying, I was finally granted a meeting with the Permanent Mission of Nigeria; which basically is Nigeria’s embassy located here in Manhattan.  From KKK grand wizards, to a room full of Nigerian diplomats: you couldn’t possibly get more polar opposite.

When I first arrived at their building, I was completely blown away.  In one of the most exclusive sections of Park Avenue, was this enormous townhouse made completely of marble with two big Nigerian flags posted out front.  It felt like a scene right out of Coming to America; and in any moment James Earl Jones himself, was going to answer the door wrapped in a Lion, followed by three topless women sprinkling rose pedals.  As I approached the grand foyer that was carved out of gold; even with my suit on I still felt somewhat underdressed.  After giving myself the standard pep talk, I eventually rang the bell.  After stating my credentials I was finally buzzed in.  Once inside, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  Looking around the room, it was evidently clear that whatever decorating budget they had; must’ve been spent entirely on the outside.  Because inside had to be one of the most ghetto offices I had ever seen in my life.  The paint was chipping off all the walls; the sofa and chairs were all covered in plastic; and above the fireplace was a gigantic poster of their president, stuck to the wall with scotch tape.  For Nigeria to have so much money; their décor was… let’s just say, very “apartheid-chic”.  When I informed the receptionist that I was there to meet with Ambassador Obutu; he instructed me to have a seat in the lounge.

At 98 degrees, today had to be one of the hottest days we’ve had all year; and as a result waiting for Mr. Obutu, my ass had already began to stick to the plastic sofa.  Across the room they had one of those old wooden floor model TV’s from the 70’s; and then propped on top of it, was a little 17 inch flat screen TV that actually worked.  Apparently they didn’t have cable, because sticking out from the back of the flat screen was a stretched out hanger used as a make-shift antenna.  Now you would think that in a place as official as a government embassy, the TV would broadcast CNN or the BBC all day.  However to my surprise, the TV stayed locked on The Jerry Springer Show the entire time.  And judging by the reaction from everyone in the room; you’d swear they were watching Masterpiece Theater.  Now I’m assuming that the place also served as some sort of residential center; because sitting on the sofa I saw several pets just casually stroll by.  There was an old dirty cat; a couple of mangy dogs; I even saw a little chicken run by the TV, which scared the living sh*t out of me.  I thought to myself, “Now if I see a damn wildebeest run through this room, I am out.”

Ambassador Obutu and his advisory board finally came down, accompanied by one of Nigeria’s highest ranking ministers who had just flown in that morning.  After our introduction, we all took a seat in the boardroom and began going over the presentation.  Inside the boardroom had to be about 110 degrees easily.  I had never in my life experienced such heat before.  And the craziest part of all was that nobody else in the room seemed to be bothered by the heat, but me.  Finally I in the middle of his speech I said, “I’m sorry to interrupt Mr. Obutu, but is someone going to turn on the AC?”  To my surprise, he replied in his strong accent “We don’t have an AC.  We don’t like them.” and then continued on with his speech.  Now, inside my head I’m thinking, “Is he f*cking kidding me?”  That room was hotter than a damn oven; not to mention without any ventilation, that strong Nigerian funk they were all giving off, seemed to be intensifying with every second.  It smelt like somebody let loose a bag of angry skunks in the room; after they played 3 games of basketball.  Suddenly in the middle of his speech, I interrupted again “I’m sorry…but can someone please maybe open up a window?”  The head minister himself then replied, “No Window.  It’s way too loud out there.”

Now cut to me sitting at a table full of powerful smelling Nigerians; my suit dripping with sweat; while everyone else at the table was basically cool as a cucumber.  This was not looking good.  As much as I wanted to leave, I desperately needed the sale to make quota.  So with no other choice, I took off my jacket and just continued on with the meeting.  Moments later, everyone at the table began looking at me strangely as I slowly began peeling off layers of my clothing one by one; anything to cool myself down.  The next thing you know, I was literally sitting at the table in my white Fruit of the Loom tank top, fanning myself with some guy’s organizer.  I mean, this was some serious ass heat.  I must’ve lost consciousness for a second; because I was suddenly awakened by Ambassador Obutu yelling, “Mr. Sanders!!  In Nigeria it is considered unacceptable to sleep during a meeting!”  Now I’m not sure if deliria had set in; or if I just went loopy due to the heat-to-funk ratio in the room; but all of a sudden I just snapped.  Not able to take it any longer, I stood up and shouted “Dammit I wasn’t sleep!  I passed out!  It’s hot as Satan’s ass in here!  I don’t know what yall do in Africa; but over here in America, we use AC’s!”  From then on, suddenly everything just went completely black.  When I woke up, I was laying on the floor with a bunch of frantic Nigerians standing over me.  I thought to myself, “Sh*t!  I done died and went to the wrong damn heaven.  I knew one of them mutha fka’s had a blow dart on him.”  I realized I probably shouldn’t have opened my damn mouth.  Now I’m gonna have to smell Nigerian funk for the rest of eternity.

I must’ve gone right back under; because the next time I woke up, I was at NYU Hospital with an IV sticking out my arm.  Never in my life had I ever been so happy to see white people.  As it turned out, I suffered a heat stroke and it took nearly two days for them to restore all of my fluids.  And just in case you were wondering; once again, I did not get a sale.  But the good news is; this morning I received an email from the President of Nigeria apologizing for my hospital stay; and stating that he would gladly reimburse me $10,000,000.00 dollars for all my medical expenses.  All I had to do in return was simply email him back my social security number and bank account information.

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