I write this on the eve of the reunion of a very traumatic and dark incident in my life. For all purposes, I shall refer to it as the incident, yes THAT one.
In a time that Cape Town’s mercury had exceeded sane temperatures, and when the stress of a new job had just about beaten me to cowering mess, Murphy’s Law decided to have its sweet way with me. On a day when I thought I had just grown used to a 25 Mcommute, the whole universe came down on me like an evil mutated sea bass on heat. What I’m about to describe has left me suffering in some kind of hypertension like state of post traumatic stress and dementia, the healing process has begun, yet I’m still tender.
Following a 1.5 KM trot to Cape Town station under the 35 degree sun, I managed to get a spot on train early enough to feel comfortable. Generally used to being on my feet, I had no problem standing between the seats, considering I had some space to breath and move my arms. Slowly but surely however, the carriage began to fill up as the entire Western Cape population stuffed themselves into my personal space. By now, the body heat of around 150 Capetonians had engulfed my 30 cm by 30 cm standing space and started choking the life out of me. I took a few deep breaths and reminded myself that a cold shower was only one short train ride away. But my last straw of sanity broke when I turned my head to the left, meeting face to armpit with a sweaty commuter’s day gone by. Fearing my safety, I swung my face in the opposite direction, only to have my flesh severed by hippie dreadlocks. This was my little piece of hell for the next 45 minutes.
My blood literally boiled and my entire body burnt with the worst itch imaginable. Just as I had submitted to the fact that things couldn’t get any worse, Murphy’s Law crept up behind me and reminded me that they could. He crept up behind me in the form of a man in a full suit, whose English was very hard to make out. He had his face buried in a bible and began screaming prophecies of mankind’s imminent demise.
CONFESS OR YOU WILL DIE!
I KNOW THE WORLD WILL END IN NOVEMBER THIS YEAR!
This went on for the entire train ride which is now a slight blur. I stumbled home with my tail between my legs and my sanity somewhere in Salt River or Woodstock. I may or may not have cried myself to sleep in the shower that night, but at least I’ve finally spoken about it. Reflecting on it now, I’m reminded of Harold Camping, the old turtle look alike who proclaimed Armageddon in May 2011.
Thank you, Cape Town. You continue to surprise me.