I’m in a trench. I am covered in mud, blood and Amarulla. Nobody
loves me. I am just going to stay here in this hole and when the construction
workers come back in the morning they can backfill over the top of me and that
will be that.
Onderstepoort is the Vet campus for the University of
Pretoria. They hold the maddest Rag parties and this year, 2009, I am invited
to join them. Barbara and I were still in the early days of our relationship
and we had yet to truly experience how we are as a drinking couple. The party bus departed from campus and headed
out towards the Brooklyn Circle. With watermelon vodka bombs and my infamous 3
Spirit punch things progressively got louder and louder. We parked at the
circle, in the middle there, and set up camp. This is to be our viewing ground
for the Rag procession.
The punch went down well and so we followed it on with Cane
and Cream Soda drip bags, jelly shooters and a couple of beers for balance. The
procession made its way through with massive self-driven colourful floats from
the BA students, less involved tow-alongs from the BCom students and then an
old rusty venter trailer with some lights on it from the BEng guys. Good times.
The sun is setting now and Dane says he wants to head to his
flat nearby and hit the hay. I decided to take a walk with him and accidentally
left my shoes behind. It is Pretoria after all. We walked down the concrete
pathway, around the corner and across an open stretch of thorny and rocky land which
ended us in front of his complex. Okie dokie its time for me to head back to
Barbara and company.
On my way back, as I took the last corner, I spotted the
party bus leaving without me. It’s a long walk from there to Hatfield square. I
started to run, full tilt, after this bus in the hope I could cut it off as it
entered Duncan Street. Running along with 2 litres of all sorts in my stomach I
started to really churn that liquor around my blood stream. BANG! I ran,
freaking full tilt, into a stop sign.
I hit it so hard and so perfectly centre that my left leg
and left arm sprung out from my body while I sat there in suspension for a
moment. Must have looked like something from the Hanna Barbera cartoons. I sank
to the ground and rolled onto my side in pain. I was all warm and cuddly from
the run but it felt like I had toothache in my chest from the impact. Anyways,
I lay there for a minute or two as I watched the bus pull off into the
distance. When I eventually made my way back to the circle I noticed my shoes
were missing. So I am bare foot, bleeding and in serious danger of an imminent
hangover.
Sitting there feeling sorry for myself I got this ray of
sunlight, this miraculous moment of compassion, as Lisa and Johan offered me a
lift back into Hatfield. They knew me only as the dude who Barbara brought
along which, after my afternoon performance, was not much of a comfort. However,
they loaded me up into the back of their Corsa and we headed out down Lynwood
road. I was calm, collected and ready for my judgment. Then, I met Lisa and
Johan properly.
I can’t recall if it was Dub Step or Heavy Metal but this
Ginger Ninja and his mad hatter other half cranked up the volume, started
jamming heavily which inspired me to pick myself up off the sober train and
head straight back, downhill, into chaos. I propped my right foot on the
passenger chair head rest, my left foot on the roof and started doing sit ups
while hanging out of the window. This one random guy ran up to me and as I hit
the bottom of my sit up he poured my mouth full of Amarulla cream, “ONE!” He
shouted, as I pumped up and down another sit up, second mouth full of Potency, ‘TWO!’
He kept me amped whilst jogging next to the car down Lynwood rood. His mates
caught up as well so I hit 10 or so sit-up-shots with cup fulls of all sorts.
When we arrived in Hatfield there was blood on the material
roof inside the car, Lisa gave me a high five and Johan and I gave it stick in
the parking lot. Awesome people.
Barefoot, bleeding and covered in shooter mixtures I walked
into Hatfield square in search of Barbara and my damn shoes. My phone is dead
by now and I can’t find this woman anywhere. I stumbled up and down the square
like Dawn of the Dead popping my head into every bar and club looking for this
women who “supposedly loves me”. I couldn’t find her. I was so bleak.
“Fine, bugger her” I
thought to myself and I made my way around to the Ocean Basket to catch up with
some mates there. Punched in a few beers and decided its best I go looking for
Barbara one last time. I’m so upset with her for abandoning me out in the cold
and not even having the decency to leave me a pair of shoes. I walked out of
Ocean Basket, around the corner and fell chest first into a trench. THUD.
I just lay there. My body had reached its pain vs. gain
limits. Nobody loves me. It is only this roadwork trench that has the time to
comfort me.
The next morning I woke up at Barbara’s place. Her demonic
possessed figure stared at me as I split my eye lids open through the crusty
Amarulla coating. Her eyes were glowing red, her hair was standing on end and
my funeral…well it was pending.
Not my most glorious moment. Turns out I was just being a
douche. However, it doesn’t compare to the time I Rambo-attacked the boy’s
hostel armed with a flick knife and a mind full of suspicion.
That, my friends, is a story for another time.
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