Taxi Wars

In Harrismith Pierre told me about local man Willie’s fish n chips shop for our takeaway easy meal. Willie gave me a non-stop rundown on life the universe n everything while his chef did the cooking.

Now I needed white wine and in my hurry to get to the bottle store I looked left, looked right, did not look at my reverse camera monitor – I would have seen it was filled with Toyota Quantum – and reversed right into an innocent taxi parked behind me, smashing his sliding door window to smithereens.

Witnesses to my skill called the driver. He was very nice about it, but said Please Call My Boss, Mr Khumalo. He’s a nice man.
Mr Khumalo was indeed a gentleman, he arrived in minutes and showed me where a glass fit place was, just 100m away. In fact right where Pierre’s Dad’s Massey Ferguson and Datsun agency used to be, many moons ago.

The tannie who owned the joint said, Don’t worry I’ll fix it. She ordered a whole new window on her computer and announced, That’ll be R800. I asked, And to fit it? R800 all-inclusive, meneer.

Phew, what a relief. Amazing.

Dominee up the Bum

Sitting minding my own business on the way home and CRASH! Right up the rear.  It was a dominee of sorts. One of those churches I am highly critical of. You know PTL – No, not Praise The Lord, Pass The Loot.

I was OK:

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Him? Well, bless him:

car crash dominee

I dunno. You’d think the Lawd or the guardian angel would install those proximity sensors in dominee’s cars so even if they’re perusing their holy cellphones the car would glide to a safe halt with auto-braking. No?