Yesterday, I had an interesting encounter that unfolded in my pharmacy. I needed to retrieve a tin of expensive baby formula from a high shelf, so I grabbed a two-step ladder. As I climbed up, I couldn’t help but feel a momentary disconnect from my usual role of caring for my patients. A friend of mine named John had once warned me about the importance of never turning my back on patients, as they might interpret it negatively. His words echoed in my mind as I ascended the ladder.
Suddenly, I sensed a presence behind me, and my stomach tightened with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. It was as if a worm had wriggled against the walls of my stomach. As I turned my head cautiously, I descended one step of the ladder. To my surprise, a thin man stood behind me, slightly taller than myself. He wore a yellow “NSSF” branded cap and an oversized t-shirt, looking frail and desperate.
It became evident that the man had cleared his throat deliberately to get my attention. He was my customer. However, what struck me was his peculiar way of avoiding eye contact. His forehead remained hidden, and I wondered why. Despite this, I mustered a friendly smile and greeted him with a cautious “hi,” moving closer to assist him. Little did I know that he would turn out to be the most unusual client I had encountered in my career working in the pharmacy.
We faced each other, but his eyes remained concealed. I could only observe his nose, mouth, and chin. At least masks are no longer mandatory, but his actions still puzzled me. He appeared shy, scared, and ill at ease. Finally, he spoke up, his first words revealing his purpose: “I want knee support.” I fetched the size I believed would suit him, assuming he needed only one. To my surprise, he requested two. I had underestimated him.
To put it simply, he seemed destitute, unable to afford the items he was trying to purchase. Despite his apparent poverty, he paid meticulous attention to detail, just like affluent individuals would. I couldn’t help but feel that he was wasting my time with no intention of actually buying the items. He began haggling over the price, and I reluctantly offered him the best discount I could manage, emphasizing its exceptional value. After a brief hesitation, he whispered, his voice strained as if he had a sore throat, “let me also have two pairs of ankle support.” Two pairs! Who would wear both knee and ankle supports simultaneously?
Adding two deep heat sprays and two gels to his purchase made matters worse. I started to lose focus, wondering why this man was squandering his money on such things. He looked hungry and anxious, and a decent breakfast might have served him better. Nevertheless, I punched the items into the computer and couldn’t help but notice the impressive numbers on the screen. It was the kind of sale that could make a significant impact on my morning, or even the entire month. Excitement crept in.
I decided to be honest with my customer. I warned him that the knee supports we had chosen appeared small and might not adequately support his weak legs. I wanted to assess his seriousness, as my gut told me he might be under the influence of some unknown drugs. I expected him to reject my offer, as I had already jumped to the unfair conclusion that he was a fool. It turns out that the fool was me.
In an effort to illustrate my point, we removed the knee supports from their boxes. However, it was more of a solitary effort on my part, as he showed little interest in how they looked. The pair of knee supports seemed small, and unfortunately, we didn’t have the medium size that would have fit him perfectly according to his measurements. Despite my suggestion to fetch the right size from our distributor, he insisted on immediate acquisition. Perhaps he urgently required them for a specific purpose, even if he didn’t intend to use them.
I retook his ankle and knee measurements, concluding that the ankle supports would indeed fit. The knee supports, on the other hand, required a trial at home to determine their suitability. We gave it the benefit of doubt although by “we” I mean “me” because he seemed not to care at all. With nothing further to discuss, the transaction was complete. It could potentially be the biggest sale of the day, or even the month.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to engage my customer further, hoping to build a relationship for future business. He seemed like a man of few words, so I inquired, “Why are you buying these? Are they for exercise?”
“Yes,” he replied succinctly.
“Do you play football?” I probed.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“That’s awesome! Which club do you play for?” I asked with genuine interest.
“Wazito,” he revealed.
“Wazito? That’s incredible! I actually know someone in the technical bench there—Rodgers. Have you met him?” I inquired, expecting him to acknowledge the connection.
“No,” he responded, his voice revealing his unfamiliarity with the name.
I found it surprising that he didn’t know Rodgers. We had collaborated with him on a previous project, and he had proved incredibly helpful with his connections. I wanted to share this information with my customer when another client entered the store, appearing urgent and interrupting our conversation.
Quickly switching gears, I attended to the new customer, only to realize that we didn’t have the product she needed. However, I assured her that we would procure it for her, I saved her number on my Iphone and carefully returned the device to its designated spot, discreetly nestled one shelf beneath the counter. As she departed, I couldn’t help but acknowledge the brevity of our encounter. Nonetheless, I found solace in the fact that our interaction hadn’t consumed an excessive amount of my time.
As I turned my attention back to my football-playing client, he abruptly announced, “Keep them aside for me; let me go remove the money.”
“We also accept mobile payments through LIPA NA MPESA,” I suggested.
“Oh, I have a card,” he responded.
“Then we can process the payment through the card,” I proposed.
“But I also need cash,” he insisted.
“Unfortunately, there isn’t an ATM nearby,” I regretfully informed him.
With that, he left. I felt a tinge of disappointment and a sense of being used. We had spent over half an hour, only for him to inform me that he would return. It was disheartening, but not entirely unexpected.
To my surprise, though, he returned once again.
“Do you have a photocopier?” he asked dropping his ID on the counter.
“Yes,” I answered uncertainly, realizing that the machine was not in optimal condition. Nevertheless, I offered to assist him.
As I made my way to the photocopy machine, I retrieved his ID. Glancing back, I noticed the man bending over the counter, leading me to assume he must be exhausted. His appearance conveyed a combination of hunger and stress. Continuing with the photocopying, I stole another glance, and his movements appeared that of an incredibly impatient individual. Perhaps he desired a swift retrieval of his money to promptly obtain his items. I considered that being new to a club like Wazito could bring its own set of demands.
I grapple with the malfunctioning photocopy machine which doesn’t work. Looking back once more, I observe the customer untucking his shirt, wiping away beads of sweat from his face. It strikes me as unusual for a footballer to be perspiring so early in the morning. Nonetheless, he insists that I continue photocopying while he departs to retrieve the money.
Embracing the art of multitasking, I embark on a mission to simultaneously call the supplier and operate the machine. With a determined reach under the counter, my fingertips explore the mysterious depths in search of my elusive Iphone. Alas, it plays a game of hide-and-seek, cleverly concealed from my grasp. Undeterred by this unforeseen challenge, I swiftly retrieve my trusty Kabambe phone, ready to dial the other device and establish a connection.
However, to my dismay, the sound of ringing fails to grace my ears, leaving me puzzled and yearning for answers. Determined to overcome this communication obstacle, I refuse to surrender and redial the number with a glimmer of hope. Alas, the stubborn device remains unresponsive, its power cruelly snuffed out.
I trusted and underestimated my customer.
