The guards at the parking lot were really nice. One was a wry fellow, quick on his feet. He directed me to a slot and said, ‘This is the safest place on earth,’ in Kiswahili. A great declaration. I remember thinking about those words as I walked into Quiver.
Typically, I’m not a Quiver guy-which begs the question: who is a Quiver guy?
A Quiver guy is the kind who, when he goes to drink, says, ‘Today I’m going to turn up.’ Which means he’s in his late 20s or 30s. Some 40-somethings also consider themselves Quiver guys but that’s a story for another column.
A Quiver guy buys a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black or Jameson or Martel and works through it with his boys. He most likely wears a hat. He will have a date or he will most likely be with his boys. A Quiver guy says, ‘babes.’ And that’s who I saw at Quiver.
The place was massive. Upstairs. Downstairs. A deejay booth. Huge TV screens. Flashing banners shouting about Sunday Brunches, Executive Reggae Mondays, and Deejays Kym Nickdee-he’s good, I’ve watched his YouTube mix on The Bag.
There are Rampage Saturdays, which we were experiencing. And that’s a word a Quiver guy would use: rampage. The place was thudding, people streamed in from the rain, before long it was difficult to find a seat.
Whenever someone bought a bottle, the waitresses in their short red dresses would weave through the crowd, holding it up above their heads-fireworks, pomp, triumph.
The music that Saturday wasn’t up to scratch. The deejay was all over the place. My companion called it ‘music you listen to while handwashing clothes.’ I loved that description so much I wrote it down.
It rained heavily that evening, but inside, the party kept going. Scores of people streamed in as we were leaving around 11p.m. A Quiver guy would never leave a rampage that early. But maybe that’s how you know you’re no longer one-you start leaving before the night does.