All’s fair in tables and cars
On our decent, the pilot announced that we would be landing in one of the world’s best destinations, Cape Town, South Africa. Big words. And when I looked out of the window, I thought, ‘Big mountain.’ Table Mountain is the landmark. The spectacle. A go to point, it paints the portrait of a wise old man puffing away on his pipe preaching worldly wisdom and patience paid forward. It’s a beacon for one and all, who feel that somehow, in some way Table Mountain is gonna help make them. Spiritual. Zigzag thinking, perhaps, but that’s how it translated to me. And it didn’t end there. Watching Table Mountain from afar, it always seemed in transition. Shifting shapes. Day after day it would always stir a different idea, a different feeling, a different different. Especially, when I watched those huge, white, rolling puffy clouds motion over the mountain. Every morning, as I watched them purr, I would feel anxious. I found them suggestive. Foreshadowing. As if some major worldly event was about to happen. A bad event. But generally nothing ever happened — except rain. And then other times, when I looked up long and hard, it just looked exactly like what it was — a bloody massive rock. All very dizzy and spiritual, and sometimes not.
Now, down on the ground, there, too, was much shifting, much stirring and much much hustling. Driving around town for about fifteen minutes or so, my friend went about doing one of the most average everyday things. He parked his car. However, here, it wasn’t so much a hassle — it was a hustle. After parking his car, a young lad came up to us. My friend then handed over some money. This confused me. I asked him what it was all about. Simply, he said, “Well, I either pay him to take care of my car, or someone else will take care of my windows, radio, car seats, wheels and engine.” LOL. But it wasn’t a LOL. It was TISA, bru. Noted. Whereas Table Mountain had gone wondering around my consciousness, this had tuned into my social-conscience. Was this a great idea or a terrible idea? Was this community for people or community for gangsters? Was it just business, no offence, bru? Or was it just unfair fixing unfair? Questions are the answers, I suppose, and in some odd, crazy, sad, brilliant way, it kind of became a simple roundabout declaration of honesty. Proof that honesty is not necessarily about being right or liked. Nor is it about making what’s ethically wrong, ethically right. It’s just about making what’s unfair, equal. Life isn’t fair, we know this, and, it seems, neither is parking your car. Welcome to Cape Town, where tables make people and cars make them equal.