PhD EXPLOITS:

My first experience;
So, I opened the car and hopped onto the owner's seat...because I didn't want to drive my own personal car. Who would drive anyways¿ when there was a luxury G-wagon with a standby chauffeur to drive me to the University for my PhD registration. Yes.
A lanky young man climbed onto the driver's seat.
'Good morning Madam' he greeted.
When the words dropped, I searched for where it was emanating. It was too deep for a lanky structure such as his.
I sank back and tuned to the Tv facing my forehead, I bent it downward to face my eyebrows, then down again until my eyeballs and the screen met directly. EMPIRE came on.
My assigned chauffeur asked if I needed something chill or some nuts... It sounded like 'do you prefer "tea or coffee", so I said no because of my inborn hatred for both products (I prefer ice creams).
Besides, I had some plain yogurt, walnuts and almonds which were gifted by my American friend - who would have been my coursemate if I had secured the admission I sought at Harvard Business School last 'summer'.
The driver turned on the music and relaxed into his driving...trying hard not to exceed 100kmhr. He was warned not to...
We arrived at the University. The gatekeepers stood erect and slowly put their right hands beside the ear lobe in salutations. The closer the red coloured 2017 model G-wagon drove, the brighter their ..smiles shone. It was amazing!
One of them hurried to the owner's side. I could see him waving. I refused to wind down the window, feeling their disappointment in advance if they saw me on the owners seat. I mean my hair was undone. I had no make up. In fact, I wore no classic looks. They would have bet it's E-Money, KCEE's elder brother.
The one by the driver's side stuck his head into the car and lo! sighted me.
'Madam, madam...
I watched his voice left his tongue. He lost his voice.
A car started to follow us from behind without a horn. He too had sighted the gold on wheels.
I peeped into my purse and brought out four pieces of 100 dollars notes.
'Driver, give it to them' I said.
I noticed a piece of 100 dollar note dropped by the driver's side, narrowly escaping his left thigh.
I decided to believe it's was a mistake. But we drove off!
We arrived at the PG school. I saw people scampered for a stand, other's pinching at each other, and some folded their arms under their mammary glands.
'Driver, what's your name? I asked.
'Joe, ma, Joe' he said.
'Wait there, I'm coming out now' I said.
He had to wait, after all I owned both him and the G-wagon for as long as I wanted today.
So, I stepped off the vehicle, the breeze blowing my undone hair. I grabbed a shawl and placed it over my head and literally concealing my face.
I noticed people's expectations shattered when I walked past.
I hurried around my PhD registrations with Joe driving me to one point after another, even as we both simmered over ensued drama each time the car came to a halt.
We soon finished and headed out towards my base.
At the gate, Joe said 'madam, they are waving at you'.
I smiled and nodded simultaneously both at the movie I was watching and Joe's words.
STOP THERE, that was a slay queens narration. MY IMAGINATION decided to face REALITY:

In reality, today, I decided it was time to go get done my PhD registration. PhD in Development Communication which a Nigerian University graciously offered me.
So, I hopped into a cab and I stung at my book 'Having Adam's Baby - by Christyne Butler'.
I was reading where Adam stood before Fay half nude ....., when the driver stopped at the University gate. The gatekeeper handed him a green coloured 'pass tag' and barely said hello to me.
Two minutes later, at exactly 11.31am, we pulled over by the car park of Post Graduate School.
'Driver, may I have your phone number?' I beckoned.
08035748*****.
I pleaded with him not to leave in case I needed to visit other registration points.
I walked away wondering why on earth he would want to leave when I hired him for a whole day, and haven't paid him a dime yet.
The registration processes took less time than I expected, because they were several handy legs offering to assist one way and another for a meagre fee. I obliged. I knew I would still have some naira note left in my purse even after paying Mr. Taxi-man whose name I do not know uptil this hour.
I cared less to ask what his name was.
'He could go missing for all I care' a wicked thought that wasn't mine fleeted by.
We soon finished and drove towards the exit of the school.
When we arrived at the gate, I helped the driver to pass the 'pass tag' to the gate keeper who had earlier passed it to him.
Not sooner than 4minutes after we got on the highway, the car, an old golf my mind betted was a 1982 model.
The car jerked mercilessly.
'Driver, what's the issue' I asked.
'I think I need to buy fuel. My fuel gauge isn't working, so I can't tell exactly...' He muttered.
'Ok' I said sitting upright and ready for the worst.
We drove into an empty fuel station, but the driver soon zoomed off because the PMS was being sold at 180 Nigerian Naira per liter.
'Please, I will buy it 145 at the next fuel station' he pleaded.
'Hmmm' I choose to swallow my words instead of patronising him with a response.
At exactly 1.43pm we drove into a queue at another fuel station.
I decided the sun was too harsh for my skin.
So, I walked towards the station's mini mart with the hope of getting some butter biscuits to relax over a bottle of coke.
My disappointment knew no bounds after I made to open the door only to realize it's unused, not functional, never been used as a mini mart, but a store room for old broken motor parts.
I sank unto the bare cemented floor and in no time, I dozed off.
I was awoken by a male voice.
‘Are you waiting for someone?’
‘No’ I lifted my face slowly. A handsome man stood with his chocolate complexion shining in front of me.
‘Can I have your phone number?’ He asked.
‘No’
‘Please’
‘I’m sleeping’ my favorite rhyme repeated. I always utter those words whenever I don’t want to talk over the phone while at home. Lie!
‘Please’ he continued.
‘I won’t take your calls’
‘You would eventually’
I hissed and dropped my head on my laps with my face hiding in between my thighs.
I dozed again.
Faintly, I heard him say ‘let me go move my car, I’ll be back’
Who cares if you are going to fly your aircraft.
These guys though! My thought bursted.
The driver finished buying the fuel and walked brusquely towards me.
‘My sister, my car don spoil’.
‘What! After keeping me here for an hour.
‘The fan has spoilt’ he continued.
By this time it was 3.02pm.
An auto mechanic ran by and struggled to fix the fan to no avail.
It dawned at me that I had entered ‘one chance’ and needed to search for the next available cab back to base.
First, a ‘nice’ woman offered to drop me along the way. I considered her kindness too risky as I wasn’t familiar with the town.
Five minutes later, I found luck. I hopped into a cab that felt my frustration and decided to charge me reasonably after two fell-out with earlier potentials.
I returned to base safely, but got my pen into paper and was telling this story raw while I was being driven home , right before I slid into a plate of Edikang-ikong soup at home.

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Hello Nairalanders, my apologies for commenting before your wonderful selves.

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Do not publish without written consent from me nor share without acknowledging me.

If you comment on this work, I'll be motivated to constantly post short stories and poems.

My greatest desire is for Nairaland esteemed Mods to kindly push this to FP.

Thanks.