Poor Patrol

National Lockdown: Day Twelve

I think Woolies must have had a pre-lockdown special on stones, and my hunch is that there was some serious white level hoarding going on. I’m just sad that I missed that particular SMS informing me of this breathtaking special…

“WRewards: Don’t let imminent lockdown prevent you from exercising your right to self-righteous indignation. We have perfect deals for great deep level finger pointing. 40% OFF offer on ALL stones, along with the regulation 30% OFF Country Road. Valid until 28 March 2020. Shop safely in store”

Because the thing is, when I throw stones, I like my neighbours in their glass houses to see just how fucking suburban chic I look in my linen slacks. Jeff in marketing really nailed this “Country Roading Stones” campaign; he may just get his job back after the apocalypse. And elsewhere, I know Yuppiechef sold out of Le Creuset kettles (in black) well before the lockdown began.

I’ve lost count of the number of Tone Deaf Rangers I’ve seen galloping around. Someone actually told me “Lockdown isn’t a thing in KZN, the taxis are still running”. I know KZN can sometimes seem like the Wild Wild West, but I promise it is still part of South Africa, and Cyril is still your president. I promise guys, I know I live in Cape Town and I’ve changed (must be the wind). Then there have been the people cruising around their neighborhoods as vigilante pitch-fork operators, “Boet I’m just doing my bit to name and shame these okes who aren’t taking lockdown seriously”. Here’s the thing Charl… you’re under lockdown too… cruising the strip in your white Fortuner is not abiding by the rules. But sure, we get that you’re doing your civic duty to police “those people” who aren’t taking lockdown seriously.

And “those people” appear on WhatsApp family groups in videos and pictures… usually with comments like “We’re doomed”. And “They just don’t care”. And then in some of these places where “they” live, the army and police get sent in and people die. There’s a figure going around that 8 people have been killed at the hands of the police since lockdown… and fun fact they’re not white people in the suburbs. And let me tell you there are a lot of white people with very creative interpretations of what “stay the fuck at home” means.

When I look outside my window I’m not seeing an army presence… And you chaps and chapettes cruising the neighbourhood and doing your “social distancing” chats in the Spar and Woolies, and at your gated community recycling centres… the army aren’t watching you. The army aren’t watching the people who are sneaking across the lawns of their manicured estates to have a quick “social-distancing” beer or glass of wine. “It’ll be fine babe, we just won’t hug”. The virus arrived in the places that are getting policed and monitored the least… our kettles are boiling.

So perhaps we  should all adjust our attitudes and realise how fucking lucky we are to have unfettered access to Internet, running water, electricity (Inshallah), and comfort… while others can’t do social distancing that well because they have to queue for fucking outside toilets and money to stay alive. And let’s maybe think about all the medical workers, shelf packers, cashiers, and, and, and who wish thay they could fucking stay home in their jimjams and bake banana bread.

But my favourite Tone Deaf Ranger, who is up for “Best Minister in a Comedy Role” at the Rona2020 Awards, goes to Stella Ndabeni-Abrahams who needed no coaxing from Marlon Brando to come outside. In the most dazzling twist of irony “Stella!”, the fucking minister of communications, telecommunications, and postal services was caught attending a bloody lovely luncheon in a mate’s kiff house. But apparently she wasn’t there to enjoy the vibe, oh no she was picking up essentials… masks and other necessary accoutrements. The story went viral on socials… cos you know Minister of Communications…

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What a fucking time to be alive guys.