The reason why you should never go into competition with a drunkard in a club

 It is 6 PM, today. I walk into a club in Thika to grab one and two beers before MKU students turn it into an unruly place. Almost immediately, a man in his 40s or 50s or thereabouts walks in after me.

He takes the next table. The music is low and slow. A few people around, mainly, the people of his age. The one whose eardrums can't withstand the rumbles of Amapiano and Afrobeats. The DJ is playing Rhumba.

I order two beers, Tusker, the man orders 2 beers, Guinness. And soon, we embark on an unprovoked and silent competition to see who finishes his beer ahead of the other. Occasionally, we take breaks to talk about politics, about football and we even discuss the size of the waitresses' bums, and their cleavages.

We finish our two beers almost at the same time, and orders two more, each with our favorite brand. There is no one as loyal as a beer lover to the brand of the beer that they love.

We have 3 rounds, and at that time, around 7:45, two sassy, skimpily dressed minji minji ladies walk into the club. They are perhaps a reminder to the old folks that their time in the club has expired.

Our eyes follow their footsteps until they sit at a table not far away. On my table, there is an empty bottle, and another half full beer. On the man's table, there is an empty bottle and another half empty beer.

The two girls orders wine. And as they sip, they turn their faces to look at our table. I smile at them. They smile back and even one of them is generous enough to wave at me.

The man smiles at them, they look away in protest of his old age, his missing teeth, white hair, tired forehead skin now wrinkled.

I feel proud because they loved my youthfulness, my hairstyle, the sleekness of my shirt and the trends of my boots.

We go back to drinking beer. We gulp it down. It is a competition, a silent one. We empty our bottles almost at the same time and beckon the waitress.

She dashes to our table and leans next to me first. 'The same as before, two warm Tusker Lagers!' I say. She nods and moves to the next door.

There, for the first time, I watch as she reaches the caps of her bra to pull out a paper, and a pen from the belt of her trouser. I wonder, is she going to write down two Guinness beers. Is her memory that bad that she needs a paper and a pen to remember 'two Guiness'?

She disappears into the bar of the club. She reappears with my two beers. I feel happy, jolly like a baby. I am winning again because I am being served ahead of him. The lady then disappears and comes back holding a tray with 1 bottle of Black Label, 1 bottle of Johny walker, and another bottle of Singletons. There is a flask of hot water, a jug of ice cubes and sliced lemons complimenting the bottles of whiskeys. Once the man is served, he deeps into his pocket and pulls out an iPhone phone. He has not used his phone since I met him. He does not use it. He only places it on the table as if he wants all to see the iphone of his phone. Next, car keys, with a BMW logo, sits on the table. I have keys in my pocket. But they have the Tricycle logo.

I feel cheated. Why change the rules without telling me. The girls cast their eyes at us again. I am quick to smile at them..Next time, I know, it is time to ask for their numbers.

However, they don't smile back. They sneer at me, even, and ignore me and only stare at the man. The man smiles at them, they smile back, widely and invitingly.

They forget about the wrinkliness of his tired face, they ignore his white hair. It is the youthfulness of his carkeys, the trends of alcohol, the swagger of his phone that brightens their faces. They frown at the ugliness of my beer bottles, the dryness of my pockets and the ringtone of my Android phone. I can't compete. I take a long sip of my beer, it now tastes like leftover njahe, bitter and unwanted. The next time I look at the man, he is in the company of the two girls, they are laughing at his old boring jokes.

I am now in my house. I will never ever get into competition with a drunkard again. You just never know which weapon he carried. That man introduced a gun to a fist fight.