ZIP,epitome of power

You may call it a fly,zipper or whatever you wish,but you don’t fathom the power of this little device:the doorway to the treasure house,
apart from ‘idly’ lying astrand the two rail lines it stands between your comfort and discomfort,decency and indecency,honor and dishonor.
Wait until yours gets undone,probably in a public place and you wouldn’t realise how a thin line of cold sweat will start forming in your perfumed armpits.
Worse enough if it gets spoilt without a hope for an immediate replacement,your immediate sorrounding becomes a discomfort galore.You immediately start suspecting your self,and silently pray a miracle would happen and it gets repaired.
You start seeing images of people staring at your treasure house,wondering whats wrong with you,and whispering to each other.
You go to the the restroom and try to cajole it to at least hold on a little bit with a fervent promise that you would give it a good repair sooner you get a chance all in vain. Fifteen minutes in the restroom,you manage to ‘fix’ it but on stepping out now it looks worse than before,now it sits with an awkward gap as if ready to spill beans at any moment,actually with every step you take the gap widens and you silently wonder who cursed your day?
Woe unto you if in an office with both she and he’s around,at every moment you painstakingly try to hide it,and discreetly see if anyone is watching you or looking at it. You silently pray that your boss doesn’t suddenly call you to his/her office,where in normal circumstances you wouldn’t be offered a sit but rather you answer all the questions while standing.
Now after two hours of ‘being under siege’ an idea clicks in your head,you think of going to the shop downstairs and buy a needle and a string and do the magic,further more you know how to do a few stitches ,thanks to your home science classes,and also you console yourself that because the canteen is at the basement of the same building very few people will ‘see’ you,now you gather courage and step in the elevator and start your ‘sweaty’ journey downwards.Gladly you are alone in the lift,you breath a sigh of relief and thank heavens,thinking you journey to ‘freedom’ has started well.
Landing on the basement,two shockers hit you,one the canteen is closed,two all the senior managers are there,they seem to waiting for something or someone, meanwhile engaging in a chit chat,your guess is as good as mine,one of them must call you,probably to ask about the email he sent you and you didn’t reply,
Now you wish the ground would open and swallow you alive.A raft of ideas runs through your mind,you think of untucking your shirt,but immediately you recall you saw the HR there and she wouldn’t take it kindly,you think of faking an epilepsy and falling on the ground but you remember that will now expose to all of them your little ‘secret’.
Having ran out of all the options you decide to take it head on,you walk straight out of the basement,rather you tip toe ,hoping for a moment they be struck with blindness and not see you,Miraculously you get out into the street without any of them uttering even a single word.Now your trouble get triple magnified,now you are in the ‘public’,people everywhere, walking in different directions and unfortunately the next shop where probably one can get the two crucial items(needle and string) is two hundred metres away, immediately you untuck your shirt,realizing it doesn’t cover you well, you led a helping hand ,using your left hand you pull it downwards and awkwardly hop to Mwaura’s shop hoping and praying that he has the two crucial items in stock. Hardly you reach the shop than you whisper for needle and string ,which he promptly hands over,you pull out a note hand it over to him and vanish in the thin air back to the washrooms where you hurriedly do the magic,gratefully put the string in your pocket and once again,you walk out breathing in air of freedom and with a knowing smile on your face,and this how you realize that little zip on your trousers may be a tiny humble device but its surely an epitome of power.

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