Bumped into a guy I knew at school today.
He:
Had the best BMX.
Was really good looking.
Had a cool name, which I won’t mention here.
Once half killed me by tackling me during rugby.
(I half killed someone else twice my size in response. Someone huge and gentle, but very satisfying to pick up and dump in the mud). Sorry, so He:
Used to call me and my best friend gay. Mocked us mercilessly.
(My best friend was, and had a nervous breakdown, ended up in a clinic). He:
Wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer- he failed his matric.
Which I thought was funny, because I passed.
He went on to become a successful businessman because of his rugby connections.
He lives in the best area in Cape Town.
He isn’t a bad guy, after all.
South Africa is a weird place: It’s all about who you know. That’s how you get jobs and contracts, fame and fortune. It kinda pisses me off that this guy who was quite an idiot at school could have made it (in purely material terms). But then, I can always take the moral high ground of being a wonderful person. Not.
It also pisses me off that I should care a flying hoot about what happened between teenagers twenty years ago. I need some affirmation here, and fast.
On a separate and unrelated note: Am I alone in feeling a deep sense of shame when standing in a queue for fast food? I feel like people are checking to see if I have crappy skin or greasy hair, or webbed toes or something. Mainly because I look at other people like that. Gross, dude- you seriously did not need to upsize anything, pal. Yuk, lady, is that a tailored marquis you are wearing? Hey! Funny looking couple! Your kids are badly behaved, try giving them some greens once in a while!
Damn, the inside of my head can be nasty sometimes. I loathe criticizing others. Mainly because I am so insecure myself. I really don’t give a hoot about the way you look, and yet I hate people looking at me, assessing me. Hate it. Part of me thinks that compliments are just well-worded lies- to distract me from what they are really thinking…
I need to sleep, have Neen back, and chill out. In that order.
He:
Had the best BMX.
Was really good looking.
Had a cool name, which I won’t mention here.
Once half killed me by tackling me during rugby.
(I half killed someone else twice my size in response. Someone huge and gentle, but very satisfying to pick up and dump in the mud). Sorry, so He:
Used to call me and my best friend gay. Mocked us mercilessly.
(My best friend was, and had a nervous breakdown, ended up in a clinic). He:
Wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer- he failed his matric.
Which I thought was funny, because I passed.
He went on to become a successful businessman because of his rugby connections.
He lives in the best area in Cape Town.
He isn’t a bad guy, after all.
South Africa is a weird place: It’s all about who you know. That’s how you get jobs and contracts, fame and fortune. It kinda pisses me off that this guy who was quite an idiot at school could have made it (in purely material terms). But then, I can always take the moral high ground of being a wonderful person. Not.
It also pisses me off that I should care a flying hoot about what happened between teenagers twenty years ago. I need some affirmation here, and fast.
On a separate and unrelated note: Am I alone in feeling a deep sense of shame when standing in a queue for fast food? I feel like people are checking to see if I have crappy skin or greasy hair, or webbed toes or something. Mainly because I look at other people like that. Gross, dude- you seriously did not need to upsize anything, pal. Yuk, lady, is that a tailored marquis you are wearing? Hey! Funny looking couple! Your kids are badly behaved, try giving them some greens once in a while!
Damn, the inside of my head can be nasty sometimes. I loathe criticizing others. Mainly because I am so insecure myself. I really don’t give a hoot about the way you look, and yet I hate people looking at me, assessing me. Hate it. Part of me thinks that compliments are just well-worded lies- to distract me from what they are really thinking…
I need to sleep, have Neen back, and chill out. In that order.
Here's a picture of the bicycle I always wanted in the seventies, but wasn't allowed. Apparently, rough children rode them. I am sooooooooo that Steven Spender poem: My parents kept me from children who were rough...'
Posts
Whahaha - nerrrd bicyle. Yes you are right - Cape Town is all about who you know. Idiots abound, it's very annoying. I too am v insecure but attempt to hide that with witty repartee and stunning looks...oh what you noticed. Dammit. BLUSSHHHH....
ReplyDeleteSeriously: This was the bike the yobs rode in the UK. Cool guys. To be cool at ten years old in the 70s, you had to wear a monkey jacket, Docs, have pireced ears, and ride one of these. At ten!
ReplyDeleteRidiculous!
It's all about who you know in the northern hemisphere as well. I happen to have a prominent name in my community but I'm just a poor cousin. Whenever I introduce myself, I'm asked, "Oh, how is Bob, etc." When I say that we're distance cousins, people are suddenly much less interested in knowing me.
ReplyDeleteYou're not alone: I still carry grudges from high school and went to my 10 year reunion just to see who was fat, who was unsuccessful, and who would be jealous of my super-hot wife (then girlfriend.) I didn't go to my 20-year because I didn't like anyone, really, from my high school class anymore.
ReplyDeleteI also secretly criticize others, while holding myself above all criticism. THEIR kids are ill-behaved and dirty. Mine are creative and rambunctious.
And dirty.
@MDL: I am only now getting over being asked, aren't you JOHN'S brother, as if that is my primary role.
ReplyDelete@Briane P: I thought I would like people at the 20th, but really, I can't say I have lost much love there. Just got horribly drunk.
who you know? Dude, I think all of the US is like that in many ways. Especially in urban areas. (I am in Chicago-land - the virtual epicenter of wheeling, dealing, and institutional corruption.)
ReplyDelete@Brandy101 Yup, mobsters, the good life, You mobbed up?
ReplyDeleteHeh heh... the inside of my head is one really bitchy place!
ReplyDelete