They Live Amongst Us

My average day involves meeting no less than 5 new people. Five people every single day of the week that I have never met before, and in most cases these are people I would probably not meet ever again. These include secretaries and PA's (in most cases), followed by maintenance managers and general managers, and lastly office staff.
For those that don't know, I own a commercial property maintenance company, and also a construction company. It's the former that allows me the opportunity to meet all these interesting people on any given day.

This past week was no different.
The maintenance manager at a company we started a project at on Monday called me in the morning to confirm a few things. I happened to be driving when he called, and we chatted about the project schedule.
This is a transcript of the tail-end of the conversation.
Me: Right then, so everything is on track.
Him : Yes. Now do you have a pepa?
Me: A pepa? What's a pepa?
(At this point I was suffering from extreme anxiety as I thought he was speaking about a tool or machine which I didn't know about)
Him : A pepa man, a pepa!
Me : (still highly confused)
What do I need this pepa for?
Him : To write down a phone number on! 
*They live amongst us*

If this was just the start of my week, I hoped it would only get better.
Aah, that wonderful word "Hope".

On Tuesday I was back at my Italian clients place. I wrote about her here.
She's very hot as you would expect an Italian woman to be, and she's extremely friendly. So I mentioned her to my crazy inner-circle on Twitter, and they insisted I take a picture of her on my camera-phone. Easy when you're taking a pic of a house you want to buy or a car you think is awesome, maybe even of a cute puppy in your neighbours yard. Not so easy when you're trying to take the pic of someone standing less than a metre away from you, with sweaty palms.
Needless to say, I took out my Blackberry and my first attempt was hopeless. The second attempt was a blurry shot of her foot. My final attempt did'nt get very far because she turned around as I zoomed in on her butt, and I would have been caught blushing with embarrassment had it not been for my quick thinking. I told her the insurance company required me to take as many pics as possible, and I left it at that.
So to my Twitter inner-circle (you Twits know who you are), I say Thank You for a day I'd sooner forget.
Ps: This story is not intended to imply that I take random pics of my clients butts. It is meant as a lesson to other's never to fall for the charms of an Italian in tights, and most importantly, not everyone on Twitter is your friend!

On Friday night the missus and I decided to stay in and watch a movie. Sabreen wasn't feeling too great so we thought we'd order Pizza instead of the usual Fordsburg dinner followed by night-time shopping at the flea-market. I called the Pizza place and gave them my order. I asked how long before the delivery arrived and they said approximately 30 minutes.
Forty minutes later and with still no sign of food or scooter, I decided to call and find out how much longer I would have to wait before I started gnawing on my foot. The guy who answered the phone was not the same guy I had spoken to earlier. The previous guy's name was Peter. This new guy was called "Realization". I couldn't make this stuff up if I were armed with a bucket of mampoer and a cannabis joint the size of my arm!
This is the transcript of that call.

Me: Who am I speaking to?
Him : Its Realization Sir.
Me : Realization?
Him : Yes Sir. How may I help you?
Me : I placed an order 40 minutes ago. Do you realize it has not yet arrived.
Him : What is your address Sir?
Me : (Gives him address. Listens while he writes it down on a pepa.)
Him : I'm sorry Sir. The driver is back. He could not find your place.
Me : WHAT??!!! How could he not find the place? I gave him the address!!
(At this point my fury had overtaken my hunger)
Him : He said he could not find One Four Three.
Me : One Four Three? Who lives at One Four Three?
Him : It say's here on your order Sir. Two Large pizzas, Richard Street, for one Mr Kaloo, One Four Three.
Me : Good Lawd Realization! It's 2 large pizzas, and One For Free on your special, for Mr Kaloo, one Richard Street!
Him : Aah!. Oh? Aish.... Yoh, I'm sorry sir.
Me : Click!
*They live amongst us*

Just when you think you've met the daftest human being on the planet, along comes one who totally lowers the bar even further :)

How's this guy on Who Want's To Be A Millionaire?
I think he sets a new standard for the show.

The Story Of Irma & Tiffany

There's these two awesomely cool and amazingly funny tweeple I follow on Twitter, and this is the story of how they met.

Irma (@irma_murray) and Tiffany (@jislaaikit) had been out partying in and amongst the same circle of friends without having known each other at the time.
Now I may get some or all of the facts wrong here, and I may even make some up as I go along, but Wikipedia calls this Poetic Licence and I sprinkle it about like rice at a Chinese wedding :) So bare with me here folks.

Anyways, sometime during this night of epic debauchery and random awesomeness, Tiffany ended up at Irma's place and was intending to get a ride home. It was just the two of them, as the song goes.
As I understand it, before they left Irma's place, Tiffany needed to use the loo.
Twenty minutes later and with no sign of Tiffany, Irma was starting to think that the chloroform air-freshener she had sprayed in the loo earlier may not have been such a great idea after all.
Tip-toeing toward the Porcelain Palace, imagine her surprise when she opened the door to find it empty and devoid of Tiffanyness!
A quick once-over of the ingredients of the Hunters Dry she held in her hand confirmed that the alcohol content was too small to induce delusion or epileptic drunkenness. She turned and headed toward the bedroom, more out of curiosity than from a belief that she would find the lost party therein. She already had Missing Persons on speed-dial, John Edwards from Crossing Over on the landline, and The Psychic Network on Google, so she knew she had all her bases covered for any eventualities.

She reached the bedroom and with timid hands, silently and slowly began turning the knob. With the door now open just wide enough to fit an un-permed head through the crack, she peeped into the bedroom and was greeted by the sleeping form of Tiffany, cuddling a pillow in the foetal position and looking like a splash of   rainbow that had broken away from a rainy sky and spread itself across her white linen sheets.
She stood there breathless and in awe. Never before had her bed looked so inviting.
She did what any rational and normal person would do given the circumstances.
She hopped into bed and snuggled up next to Tiffany :)

Today, Irma and Tiffany are happily engaged and have no idea when they were formally introduced.
(Hey, I did say I use Poetic Licence like rice at a Chinese wedding, didn't I? ;)

Ok, so you're probably wondering what the car in the pic has to do with this story, right?
Well, I have no idea.

But something tell's me that it will feature in Part Two of this Trilogy: The Running Of The @KerriBowie , followed by the final chapter, The Silence Of The @chef-lamb

Watch this space!

Eric The MTN Guy

Ever since Trevor Noah sold his soul to the corporates, I've become very anti-Trevor and by default very anti-CellC.
Suddenly his jokes don't seem funny anymore.

So when one of my mobile contracts came up for renewal, I decided to stick with MTN.
Sure they have their issues and may not have the best customer service, but at least they're not affiliated with Trevor or have retarded meerkats dancing to even more retarded songs as a marketing tool.

I traipsed (I like that word.. I should use it more often) over to the local MTN store and was met by Eric.
Calmest guy on the planet!

True story :
This woman standing before me was ranting and raving and cussing all manner of unspeakable words that would make a scurvied sailor blush, and Eric just stood there and smiled.
He took it like a real trooper, never once flinching or interrupting.
Even when she said the MTN folk can take their Blackberry's and shove it up their collective arses!
I think "collective" was over-kill. Singular arses would still have got the point across.
But thats just me.

Admittedly I was there to collect one of those Blackberry's.
Hopefully from the storeroom and not from the orifice said lady had just mentioned.

It turns out she was upset that MTN had suspended her service for being in arrears.
I'm not sure what her argument was, but telling them where to shove their phones didn't seem like such a great  negotiating tactic.
Anyways, Eric finally calmed her down and offered her some coffee while he suggested she use his laptop to write them an email!
How cool is this guy?!
Him and I both knew he was going to delete her mail the second she walked out of the store.
OK maybe he didn't know it, but I sure as heck did.
It's exactly what I would have done.

It's only when I stepped up to the counter to be helped that I realised why he was so cool throughout her tirade... he had his earphones plugged into his ear, and seemed to be listening to music from his mobile!
I'm guessing The Three Tenors or Andrea Bocelli.
He probably had'nt heard a word she said.
Again, maximum points for distracting himself whilst looking interested.

Now one of the things I've realised about myself is that I enjoy engaging people and finding out their stories. Everybody has a story, even those who say they don't.
Everybody does.

It's like the post I was reading on my friend Paige's blog, about a Big Issue vendor being drenched.
Wouldn't it be cool if every day, we could choose random people from all walks of life, and sit them down to find out their story, and then write about it on our blogs?
Telling the story would be as empowering for them as writing the story would be for us.

I just knew Eric had a story, so I asked him about the craziest client he ever had to deal with.
Always an easy ice-breaker, because we never forget the crazies.
He looked at me with that amazingly calm face, eye's as serene as an Alaskan ice-pond.
His eyelids half-closed. He almost looked Chinese.
Like a Chinese black dude.
Very cool.
Maybe he just smoked weed?...

It was a few weeks back.
She came in carrying her fancy handbag and flowers on her shoe's matching the flowers in her hair.
Always a bad sign.
Bad dress sense always equates to bad common sense.
Anyways, she never bothered introducing herself or asking for the right person to speak to.
She just saw calm Eric as the weak link in the MTN herd and honed in for the attack.
Within 5 minutes he was belittled to the point where he started thinking maybe he was a loser.
She was so crafty he forgot to ask her what the problem was and began focussing on his newly-planned suicide.
Just before he slit his wrist as a last stand of defiance of a man holding on to his vanishing pride, he managed to fire off a feeble "What's the problem with your phone ma'am?"

She handed it over to Eric and said she couldn't connect to the internet.
He flipped it open, looked at it and told her he couldn't help her.
She had his testicles in her claws and was about to rip them off and serve them as a delicacy to her poodle, unsalted. (figuratively, of course).
She scowled and asked him why not.
He lifted his gaze like a muslim pilgrim trying not to gaze at Satans naked wife before him.
Then lifted his finger and pointed out the door, saying "Because Vodacom is that way ma'am."

Crazy woman realised she was in the wrong store, didn't bother apologising as she huffed, spun around and proceeded to the Vodacom store.

So thats Eric's story.... and he's sticking by it.

A Love So Pure

I was just fourteen when I first laid eyes on her.

She moved to the neighbourhood a month after my birthday, and I was so distraught that I'd missed the opportunity of having her at my party by just a few weeks.
Even at fourteen I knew I'd fallen in love. I always wondered what the sensation would feel like when it finally did hit me. I hadn't figured that it would be one of such giddiness and unexplained butterflies.

I remember going to school the following Monday and telling my friends about her.
At first I felt uncomfortable telling them her name, and even though they laughed on hearing it, I knew deep down inside that they were secretly envious of my attachment to Jessie.
It wasn't long before she became one of the guys, coming along wherever we went.
Saturday mornings were spent at the soccer field, and she was like our mascot.
Sunday mornings were reserved for fishing trips on our bicycles, and I smiled inwardly whenever the guys would ask why Jessie didn't come along on the few occasions when she was otherwise occupied.

I once asked my mom if Jessie could move in with us, thinking it the most natural thing in the world.
As a fourteen year old, everything seems natural.
Of course mom said it wouldn't be right, and whilst I didn't understand at first, I didn't allow it to hinder my seeing her every single day.

It was three amazing and wonderful years later, on a rainy Sunday afternoon, that my mom came into my room and sat down at the foot of my bed. She started massaging my foot and I awoke from a lazy languid dream about oceans and seagulls.
At first I was confused about what she was saying, as it sounded like something out of a soppy movie. It almost sounded like the script to My Girl with MaCauley Culkin.
Except in her version the main character wasn't stung by bee's, but was hit by a car.
Then she mentioned the name.
Jessie.
Jessie had been hit by a car?
Jessie had been hit by a car!

The tears were streaming down my face long before the realisation had sunk in.
It's amazing how fast the brain can process. It almost felt like the reality was racing to catch up with the emotion.

I yanked my foot away from my mom and ran outside in the rain, competing with the weather to see who could drown the earth quickest.
I must have cried for over an hour before I realised the sun had set, and I was left to do my crying in the dark.

It took me two days before I could summon enough courage to visit Jessie's home again.
Opening that rickety old fence was the most difficult moment for me, because the squeal of the rusted metal gate was like a trigger for Jessie to come running to me, but not on this day.
Jessie would come running to me no more.

The vet said it was old age.
I still hear her bark when I close my eyes and think back on those three amazing years.
That sweet sound and her boundless energy will forever be young in my memories.

Happy tails Jessie.