For quite some time I have simply had nothing worthwhile to say. Also I am somewhat nervous of offending those so sensitive that even though they remain nameless in this space they feel the whole world is watching their every move when I comment on their behaviours when they tick me off. But that having been said - here are a few bah humbugs that I can't resist (sorry for offending those more sensitive souls, but frankly I could not care less):
Why do fat people amble from side to side, rocking, very slowly, when they are walking down St George's Mall. Or for that matter any main thoroughfare in Cape Town? Their slow, rolling, amble is in direct proportion to the hurry I am in to get to my lunch spot. They become correspondingly slower the later I am to get back to the office. And why do they hang out in sludgy, rambling groups of at least 3 which leaves the only part of the pavement free the bit which has broken paving stones, red and white police tape (why is that there anyway), large dongas, or an old lady with a zimmer frame and similar ankle-wrenching, progress-preventing obstacles.
Which leads me to my second grouch - why is our office clock set 4 minutes fast, yet I can only leave for lunch at 1.00pm on my watch but must return at 2.00pm on the office clock?
Which does a neat tango into - why is my boss' daughter such an unmitigated, miserable bitch with serious anger-control issues and such poor interpersonal skills at the age of 30? Also, and I only ask this because she believes she has vastly superior intelligence to the rest of us mortals, how can she believe that we fall for her food poisoning stories, when we all hear her arranging her booze-ups and parties in tones usually reserved for regimental sergeant majors bawling out raw recruits on the parade ground. Some of us have seen her drink, she'd be lucky to have food poisoning - it'd surely be less painful than the hangovers she must suffer. On the topic of her telephone voice - is it possible for someone who has grown up in the era of cellphones to believe that she needs to bellow like a deaf old fart when she's having one of her multiple daily personal phone calls. We wouldn't mind, except she drips this fake syrup over all her conversations reminding me of Cruella DeVille trying to charm a puppy into the limo (only louder and less convincing). Naturally, no work is possible during these calls based on the brain freezing, mind numbing noise - and the lack of worthy content. Of course, we are all not permitted to make, receive or even consider personal calls even if it's to call the Fire Department to hear whether they have successfully extinguished the blaze that used to be one's home. She then commands poor, long-suffering daddy to go and stand by the miscreants desk and hover there till they finish this rule-breaking, commerce threatening 3 minute call. It's a good thing I'm a world champion at anger management and self-control or I'd have knocked her silly Olive Oyl head off it's block - so far so good......watch this space ....I could be looking to borrow bail money soon.
Did I mention that I count people's toes? Oh yes for the slower ones amongst you - I just changed the subject. So did I? Well I do. I don't know why I do it but I have done this since I was in my early teens. It's possibly part of my mildly compulsive nature, I'm not sure, but it has been interesting and scary but I can't stop. For example, you'd be surprised how many people have six toes on each foot. Less people only have four toes on one or both feet. Many people have very ugly feet (not really their fault - this can happen to anybody) but why do so few people realise that if they must wear sandals, then a basic requirement should be clean, neatly-trimmed toe nails, scrubbed heels and if they want to wear nail polish on their toenails (men or women - I don't wish to appear in the least bit sexist) please, puleeeze, take it off when it chips!
Here's the odd thing - if a man has feet I find unattractive, I am totally turned off him physically and just can't bear to have any part of his foot touch me (really, any part of anything attached to his foot either - like legs, butts, luncheon meat, hips...etc,etc - you're getting this anyway - I don't have to labour the issue).
And lastly, ok it's hardly the last thing I'm going to grumble about, but lastly for today, Saturday, 7th March 2009 - Why do Capetonian pedestrians stand and stare at the little green man at the traffic lights like it's a martian, but when the lights are NOT in their favour, they step boldly into the traffic straight into the path of oncoming cars and don't even flinch at the squealing of tyres etc. Why do they cross all roads as if they have a death wish? I'd like to oblige them, but I hate the sound of bones cracking and skin splitting, and I am trying to preserve my no-claims bonus. Not to mention it could really put a damper on the rest of this otherwise interesting life knowing that I have, in all innocence, squooshed a pedestrian.
