People have been stopping me on the street. Not really, but in my fantasy world, where people stop columnists on the street, people have been stopping me on the street.
“We know what you’re writing about this week,” they say before I’ve written anything. “You, Lev David, are a crazy atheist. You’re going to pick on Jacob Zuma for the school prayer thing.”
You know me so well.
Not going to do it, though. Here’s why: you and I both — progressive, thinking, pants-wearing people — will have to learn not to react to every little absurdity from Zuma.
This man will almost certainly be our president. He is not a bright man. He will say things that may sound crazy to people who aren’t crazy and the presidency is likely to play like a blooper reel.
Take a deep breath. Cross your fingers. Not every gaff will be passed into law.
Beyond the Zen stuff, though, there’s another reason for skipping the God story. This week, I’m liking this Zuma guy.
Sure, he’s a polygamist. And there’s that nebulous swirl of allegations and reasonable suspicions around him — Shaik, showers, ‘shini wams. And let’s both agree his head is shaped like a glazed crescent roll that’s unfurled in the oven. None of these things endear him to me.
Still, think of the columnists, stand-up comedians and those idiots who forward you a dozen emails a day. (Most of them PowerPoint presentations of babies dressed as fruit, but you sometimes get a bit of pithy political humour too. In my fantasy world, people forward my columns to each other all the time.)
Simple fact: dumb presidents are good for funny.
Anyway, not everything he proposes will be ridiculous.
For example, he’s announced that South Africa’s about to become a welfare state.
I say: it’s about bloody time. I love free stuff. I was raised to covet the free.
When I was a kid, my dad once queued two hours for a free microwave jug. At the time, we didn’t have a microwave.
If free is unavailable, go for cheap.
My mum has had her senior citizen’s discount card for the movies since her mid-forties. A doek on her head, she went to apply, hoping to pass for older. When they asked for her ID, she feigned senility, they took pity on her and now everyday is half-price day.
Me, I fake a limp for a business class upgrade all the time. If one limp doesn’t work, I try two.
So, naturally, the idea of getting paid for being unsuccessful, that appeals to me. In life, we can’t guarantee success. Failure, though. That’s easy to come by.
All I need now is to get unemployed. Or better, unemployed and knocked up.
You think I’m being sarcastic. I’m not. I love the idea of a state that will hand you wads of cash for no good reason. A state that — like Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones’s Diary — loves you— just the way you are! Even and especially if you’re a loser.
And Zuma’s ANC has written up a good list of grants. Of course, it could be better.
I’ve Scandinavian friends in South Africa who get paid by their governments for having existential crises on the beach. Their only obligation is to take a series of photographs or write a short story whenever they seduce a native.
That’s the life.
Work? They say it builds character. It’s done nothing for me.
Sleeping in. Now that builds character and is great for the complexion. Work puts bags under your eyes and a crick in your neck. It’s unnatural. It’s demeaning.
Need evidence? Easy. It’s the end of the year. Which means it’s office lunch season.
Check out those people in restaurants at long tables, sitting up straighter than people having fun are able to.
There’s a reason why King Arthur chose to make his table round. Long tables are made by joining together shorter tables. And, by law, you must be seated at the join, two table legs awkwardly between your knees. It’s impossible to get your chair in.
Also by law, anybody you’d want to have a conversation with is at the other end of this long table. Too far away.
And double-damn-you if you find yourself sitting with the finance department or, worse, the boss.
Practice your fake smile lately? He’ll be telling stories about his kids.
All the awfulness of employment manifests itself at that long table. And it’s embarrassing.
So, give it up.
You, me, these people at the long table, we should all be on the dole. Having lunch with people we like. Cheap lunch, yes. Just don’t underestimate the versatility of lentils.
And don’t underestimate that man Zuma. I don’t know about you, but he and I both plan to be burdens to society.
www.LevDavid.com