I was made a tea mistress on day one as a finance intern

I have not come across a lady's tuxedo, but thank God I didn't have one to waste as an outfit on my first day as an intern. So on that Tuesday morning, everything was not usual. Of course, I didn't need to set the alarm; my system was automatically on at 5 am. To the shower and out, in my below the knee skirt suit and stepped out in my stiletto heels. Did I say heels? I'm now writing this in bata canvas.

6:30 am got me seated in the Citi Hoppa "shukisha Bunyala" went my camouflage voice. Like any other Upperhill lady, I was now walking up the hill. This day, my swaying was different despite the advice I had received yesternight from my good advisors in my house that I should be ready to meet all sorts of fine thank you hunters and hyenas in Upperhill especially those dressed in checked bow ties and folded handkerchiefs on the sides of the coats. Most of them speak a common language of "can we go out for coffee?" and then the rest is history.

Finally, my GPS was fair enough to lead me. At exactly 7.30 am, I am seated at a cozy reception on the 16th floor. I was quite nervous, but that did not stop me from throwing my eyes at the couple of beards that kept roaming around. I assumed they had forgotten their roles and needed a reminder from the receptionist. After perusing through the two Forbes magazines served to me, I located my way to the washrooms.

To be honest, my bladder was too empty to be emptied, but I was there to add more color to my lips, restyle the hair and wipe my armpits with some designer cologne I had refilled yesterday along River Road. Sooner, I was back in the leather seats and was welcomed by a different smile. "Hello, my name is Susan. I'm the HR you've been communicating with. I understand you will be joining the finance team but seems they are not here yet. In the meantime, I hope you won't mind doing me a favor?"

"Yes, please, I don't mind," I said obediently like the village girl I am.

"Mercy, our kitchen lady, has been arrested this morning over seatbelt claims in the matatu, and the CEO has some visitors. I hope you can kindly help us fix some tea, "she went on.

That next minute I was in the kitchen, all teary revising my email just to be sure of what job I had applied for. Though Shakespeare once told us that 'a chooser of a fork jembe is not a farmer,' I was not ready for this. Later after filling four flasks and smearing blue band on those slices, Susan directed me to the finance department after rewarding me with a handshake and praising my good tea cooking skills. That evening I had to lie to my advisors of my warm welcome and wonderful day one at work simply because I also don't kiss and tell.

It's been six months now, and I can comfortably tell this story. Here in the office, I think I have exhausted exploring my excel skills, and now I just thought of word after taking a long break. I only feel wasted for all the notes I wrote in class on options and swaps that are nowhere applicable. But the basic cooking skills taught to me by my wonderful woman gave me first-class honors in my office, and my CV is now richer as I leave. 16th floor, I must say, was a good one.