As Shaun Relates A Recent Tale

By A Strange Quirk, Everyone Rocked Up Wearing The Same Outfits.

This was originally written during the public wage strike a few weeks ago, but I never got around to publishing it and was getting ready to send it to the Recycle Bin. In lieu of the current private sector strike though, I thought I’d try and squeeze any possible relevance there may still be in it. Yes, I really had to squeeze.

If there is one thing I hate more than politicians, infomercials, hip hop music and little children, then it would be the rather new age activity that is walking. In this day and age, the thought of travelling anywhere by foot is about as pointless as a Danny K song.

Not being the outdoors type, I enjoy nothing more than to zip around behind the wheel of the fastest car in Cape Town, and am quite content to enjoy the city’s picturesque landscapes and views from television images, photographs as well as the internet.

My idea of a perfect Saturday afternoon would be one spent in the lounge of The HQ - curtains drawn, lights dimmed, and armed with a formidable arsenal of alcoholic beverages and edibles - whilst watching action movies starring Bruce Willis or Tom Cruise.

The Girlfriend on the other hand, likes nothing more than walking and exploring Cape Town and it’s vast underlying regions, marveling at the beautiful flora, stunning scenery, diverse cultures as well as the vast range of cheap trinkets and curios made by lazy, smelly hippies, who then proceed to ramble on about the impending social revolution taking place.

My Saturdays are thus often played out with the Girlfriend trying to drag me into the streets, whilst I defiantly repel her advances with my can of mace, putting on my Geraldine Fraser-Moleketi game face, and showing all the stubbornness and resolve of a government official during public wage negotiations. On this particular Saturday however, I was caught off guard, the Girlfriend sneaking up on me with a chloroform-soaked rag as I happily and obliviously poured myself another stiff Jameson.

I awoke several hours later, to find myself being dragged by a coarse rope through the mean and unforgiving streets of Kalk Bay, with the Girlfriend skipping along, merrily humming Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”. Showing all the determination of a cornered sewer rat, I managed to chew my way through the rope, jumped up, dusted myself off and immediately chastised her for further humiliating me as - in my comatose state - she had decided to dress me in a pair of purple tights, leg warmers as well as a black knitted top which hung off my shoulder a little too seductively for my liking.

Swallowing my pride with a huge gulp of whiskey from the flask I keep in my underpants, I trundled along behind her, ignoring the cat calls and wolf whistles from the middle-aged white men who drove by, whilst motioning to the many vagrants who reside in the streets to spit in the Girlfriend’s general direction.

One rather dirty-faced woman must have mistook this as a sign of my friendliness and philanthropy, as she came within five paces of me, thereby encroaching on my personal space and causing me to gag at the thought of any human interaction.

“Away, you homeless scallywag” I bellowed, tossing a shiny R2 coin toward her, in the feint hope that this would prevent me from having to make eye contact or listen to her particular sob story. She looked at me in astonishment, informing me in broken public-schooled English that she was in fact a rather dirty-faced nurse involved in the ongoing public service strike, which immediately lead to the two of us wrestling and grappling for the change, as I disliked nurses and now wanted cigarette money, whilst she needed to buy bread and milk for her twelve kids.

Her survival instincts to eat and provide for her family far outweighed my slight urge for a loose cigarette and, with a nimble and swift kick to my groin which belied her middle aged frame, was judged the victor by the group of onlookers who had gathered to watch the spectacle, and was thus avoided the spoils of war.

Lying in a crumbled heap, I received no sympathy from the rather embarrassed Girlfriend, who dug a steel capped boot into my knee for being an insensitive lout as well as a selfish and mediocre lover, which she knew wasn’t really applicable to what had just happened but felt the need to throw it in all the same.

Mentally and physically battered, I staggered along, pretending to show an interest in the old plates and cups we looked at, whilst wondering how Fraser-Moleketi would manage to wear the strikers down. Those nurses certainly are a tough bunch.

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