In which I hate (certain) old men


In late 2006 I had dinner with a friend at one of our favourite restaurants in Kloof Street. We were having a lovely time and all and all; I wasn’t worried about my Virgin Card being declined and we had a lot of catching up to do. I regaled her with my latest dating horror stories and she amused me with anecdotes about her well-endowed boyfriend.

Eventually, we asked for the bill. Our waitress stomped to our table, looked a little sheepish, and handed me a business card. I thought that perhaps it’s a talent scout who noticed my fantastic cleavage, and who wants to cast me in his latest block-buster. Alas, it was an old, old man. He was enarmoured of my dewy eyes, good skin, but most importantly, my ample cleavage.

I emailed Anton the following day: “…So why did you send your business card; why didn’t you buy us a drink instead?”

He acts surprised by my question. As if. We were supposed to meet for drinks the following week, but I just couldn’t let myself go: he’s old, fat and fucking ugly! This happened a couple of times and then finally I relented. He took me to The Codfather in Camps Bay – fuck, now it’s forever tainted with his memory, and then proceeded to give me R200 for food when I got out of his krok later that evening. I didn’t want it; he insisted. Fuck.

Men were always trying to save me back then. But as soon as they find out just how much saving I really need, they fuck off.

We went out once or twice after that, but nothing ever came of it. I told him I’m only interested in friendship, nothing else. He wasn’t pleased with that and tried to get me to reconsider. I didn’t, but still kept in touch once a month or so.

Fast forward a couple of months and I’m once again without a job and on the verge of being evicted. I phoned Anton, asked him if his offer to put me up should anything ever happen to me, is still standing. I didn’t even bother asking about his offer to sponsor my University Fees… He hesitates for a bit, then tells me that yes, it’s still standing. I tell him “…good, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Some random Gumtree guy had given me enough money – R800 – to afford a moving company’s services just two days prior to that phone call to Anton. So I thought I was sorted.

Ha! I moved in on that particular day and exactly one and a half weeks later he kicks me out. He cited my messiness as reason. I reckon that one and a half weeks I stayed with him were some of the most fucking soul destroying days I ever experienced: I was far away from my familiar haunts; I was out of job; my money was fast running out and I had very little motivation to find a new job. The deal was that I could stay there for as long as I needed, yes, even if I wanted to study. Oh well.

I’m glad he kicked me out. Really, I am. I still find it difficult to believe that I thought he would treat me with respect. I wasn’t even allowed to watch videos on my iPod, and he played music throughout the night. He had a maid but he expected me to clean up his mess, especially the fucking carpet. Whenever I go anywhere I had to explain myself. He even once made me sleep on the kitchen floor when he had a girl over… But please don’t think we shared a bed. No, we didn’t. I moved in with my bed, bookcase and everything else bar my white items.

Perhaps I’m casting myself in a very favourable light; perhaps I gave him too much grief. It was, after all, a bachelor flat. But. I was desperate. Anywhere would have been better than on the street. I didn’t really want to become a larnie bergie. Even though that fictional experience would have given me much material for my forthcoming best-sellers.

I don’t know why I’m sharing this. Perhaps I want to get it out of my system. Perhaps I want to warn myself not to ever trust anyone again. Perhaps I want to tell myself … oh fuck it.


3 Responses to “In which I hate (certain) old men”

  1. Uri Says:

    I was there ( i am the random gumtree guy. i think, ). it’s a true story…..sorry,

  2. Goblin Says:

    When’s the book coming out?

  3. callith Says:

    As soon as I find a publisher. Uri can help me find a good publisher, right, Uri?

    And no, you’re not the random Gumtree guy. 😉

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