Going Dutch

A while ago someone suggested “Let’s go out and celebrate my Birthday”. I said “Yeah, why not”. Although I do not drink alcohol, but I do not mind drinking orange juice or pineapple juice in a Pub. This is what I had at “The King’s Arms”, in East London. Drinks flowed freely, although I drank only juice, I saw myself restricted or restrained in my drinking. But for my colleagues it was a different picture this was time according to them to “let their hair down”. Bob a big ginger Irish man was in his full gale, it seems Guinness was a kind of fuel for him. Bob was normally quite but after 2 pints he became a chatterbox. He was a kind of guru in Star Trek, a Trekkie, he loved Voyager (I think he was watching it because of Seven of Nine, unixmatrix zero). 

Seven Of Nine

Jackie was reserved, a kind of ice queen, she was blond and had blue eyes, but after they started her on Bambi, she became less inhibited and seductive. I tried to leave but Harry was constantly pulling me down, “You not going anywhere Yet mate!” He continued to say, I felt it was better not to cause a scene and complain. The alcohol level in his blood was at the level that any deductive reasoning was totally out of the question. Then when time came to pay for the drinks I looked straight at Jack. As he invited us, and it was his birthday we were celebrating. Then everybody started putting their hands in the pockets and bags, bringing out their wallets and purses. From a crude form of calculation which was sort of an average amount drank, I ended up paying for more than I had drank . But no harm done, I did enjoy the evening and saw my colleagues in a different light.


Now, my confusion was due to a culture clash, as a little boy, I noticed that people used to stand up for women in trains and open the door for Ladies. Nowadays, that is hardly the case. I remember distinctly about 18 years ago standing up for a Lady on the underground, Victoria line. I think the Lady was more embarrassed than I was, because as at that time I was using clutches. I also had serve pain in my legs but I felt that I should bear the pain as a gentleman for a Lady, the pain caused me to sweat heavily. Although most women would see it as chauvinistic and patronising behaviour now, I felt as at that time it was the correct thing to do. Often the seat would remain empty, no one sitting on it. If I saw a pregnant woman I would shoot up, nearly falling over myself. I got to learn gradually that less and less people offerred their seat for women. There was a documentary on BBC that people no longer stood up for pregnant women. Now it seems, if a man opens the door for a lady, it either of 2 things he has just brought a new car or it’s a new girlfriend (or wife). Many people would give them at most a year to revert back to “normal”.

In Nigeria, when someone says “lets us go out and celebrate my birthday”. The whole idea is that the person who invited you is going to pay for everything. The person is inviting you to celebrate with them. I remember arranging a party once in Nigeria; I was expected to and did foot the bill, totally. Some people do not celebrate their birthdays because they do not have money.

Recently on my birthday, I told my “friends” in a new establishment I was working that “I want you to come with me and celebrate my birthday”. I drank my usual orange juice and the drinks flowed freely. The bill came to a substantial amount. I was waiting for the usual splitting of the bill (Going Dutch). Then they all began, leaving one by one.

“Thank You, Tunday”

“Nice one, Tundi”

After I paid the bill, I was told that they thought that I had “invited” them.