The other day I alighted a matatu, one of the most mediocre businesses ever, to find a group of women seated by the entrance to the estate. Don’t get me wrong here, I have no problem with women sitting by the estate entrance. It is just that this time, amongst the women sitting by the estate entrance, was my laundry lady, rather my former laundry lady. She was seated amongst other ladies awaiting clients who needed various cleaning services, mostly laundry and cleaning of houses.

My former laundry lady, Vero, was acquiring the title “former” for the second time. She was there, smiling like a cheshire cat, and rising to meet me, like a cat would do to its owner.

See, I haven’t hired her for a while, so she still had hope that probably I haven’t had my laundry done in as many days.  She reminded me of my awkward relationship with my former barber.

My ex baber and I had a complex relationship. It didn’t help that his shop was on my path home, meaning that I had to bump into him almost on a daily basis. Our daily meeting had a hint of familiarity, and deceit, which made us incoherently mumble our salutations. This was quickly followed by a lowering of heads or looking away.

A few months earlier, our relationship was right on track, like that train they promise will be commuting between Jomo Kenyatta International Airport and the CBD. We would acknowledge and salute each other with our heads held high, and even exchange a few more sentences beyond the greeting. Once in a regular while, I would even pop into his shop, take a seat, and leave with my head of negro hair substantially reduced.

That was until it began to happen. I could swear that the barber went from using a shaving machine to a minute farm plough, overnight. It was no longer shaving, the thing would plough into the farmland that was your head.  A few complaints later, and he was still at it.

That was it, it didn’t matter that my barber was cheaper than the rest. My head needed a more relaxing shave. Even worse, I was not going to accept such value for my money.

The other day, I passed the very shop, on my way to buy milk at the shop, and noticed that there was a new barber, rather than my ex-barber. Had he finally died of deceit, or had many had fled his demony ploughs?

You would wonder why I would pass by my ex-barber premises while on my way to buy milk. Well, it’s not that there are no shops near what I allegedly call my house. There’s one almost across, and another three before I get to the barber’s.

I used to frequent them, until the day before the day that my former laundry lady was to come do my laundry, in her capacity then as the current laundry lady. I had a Ksh. 1,000 note with me a Ksh 100 note, and not a penny more, or less.  I needed Ksh 50 airtime.

Keeping in mind that my laundry lady would be calling the next day, I tried buying airtime with the Ksh 1,000 note. This would get me enough change to pay my laundry lady when she called. But that would not be, as the four, close shopkeepers all claimed not to have enough change to give back.

I therefore got home without my airtime, nor enough loose cash to leave my laundry lady when she came calling. I called her, asking if she would do the laundry on credit, and I would repay her later, possibly later on the same day. She wasn’t comfortable with that arrangement and opted to me either paying her in advance, using M-pesa, or doing the laundry on her day when I had enough cash to pay her.

It hit me, like a strong stench. In the past, I would sometimes leave an extra Ksh. 50, to be carried forward, at times when I had Ksh. 100 notes. I trusted her with the Ksh 50. I had also moved my laundry day from the weekend to Monday. This was to accommodate Vero, who had lots of demand over the weekend.

One probably needs to change their laundry lady if they still cannot offer short term credit on a day when she has low demand.

One also needs to avoid shops that only sell stuff when they have loose cash, and shop more at that shop that often accepts their Ksh. 1,000 note with no grudge.

I have also learned to walk out of Tuskys Supermarket when I find the only brand of beans they offer is their own, unsorted brand.  After all, it doesn’t make much sense if you will have to stand two lengthy supermarket queues, while you could as well shop for everything in the supermarket that has that brand you are particular about.

I have learned to try as much to avoid that Mfangano branch of Ukwala Supermarket which will not take back your can of Kiwi that wouldn’t open.

I even learned to avoid Rayan Restaurant when I need to have early breakfast. After all, the waiters, outnumbering the clients, will take more than 20 minutes to notice your presence. Probably all they needed was some breakfast.

I also learned to avoid Bata, where they don’t expect you to return your leaking Ksh. 6,000 boots on warranty repair after two months.

At the end of the day month, it’s your money. Some earn it in seconds, a few in minutes, a small number in hours, a good number in a day, quite a number in a week and many in a month. If it took you a month to earn your cash, it is okay to be petty with it. Shun those who offer you mediocre services in exchange of your hard earned cash, and reward those who offer excellent service for it. Value for your money, they say.