Tuesday, December 8, 2009

That time of year...

We're in the downward slide to the end of the year - that awful time when it takes effort and energy to blink, and everyone around seems to have cosmic fatique or whatever you call that lethargy pervading office spaces where people are hanging on and counting days til they go on leave.
It was in this state that I sat at my desk this morning and was asked to rush off to the Jozi High Court to assist my colleague in his efforts to interview the relatives and victims of Ananias Mathe - the slippery character who was sentenced to spend the next 54 years in jail for something like 79 counts of robbing, raping and pilaging. The judge was apparently not overly impressed with his claims that he became a damaged soul when he was turned into a child soldier at age 11.
So I rushed down to transport to get a drop-off. But there were no drivers. So I had to walk all the way across town, arriving just in time for nothing. Seems all the family and victims had stayed away from the sentencing procedures. So there was nothing for me to do but walk all the way back.
And continue working on the pile of stuff I am trying to get through.
Then a friend mailed me this little personal ad. I thought it was great:


To the Guy Who Tried to Mug Me Downtown night before last.

I was the guy wearing the black Burberry jacket that you demanded that I hand over, shortly after you pulled the knife on me and my girlfriend, threatening our lives. You also asked for my girlfriend's bag and earrings. I can only hope that you somehow come across this rather important message.
First, I'd like to apologize for your embarrassment; I didn't expect you to actually crap in your pants when I drew my pistol after you took my jacket. The evening was not that cold, and I was wearing the jacket for a reason.. My girlfriend had just bought me that Kimber Model 1911 .45 ACP pistol for my birthday, and we had picked up a shoulder holster for it that very evening. Obviously you agree that it is a very intimidating weapon when pointed at your head ...... isn't it?!
I know it probably wasn't fun walking back to wherever you'd come from with that brown sludge in your pants. I'm sure it was even worse walking bare-footed since I made you leave your shoes, cell phone, and wallet with me. [That prevented you from calling or running to your buddies to come help mug us again].
After I called your mother, or "Momma" as you had her listed in your cell, I explained the entire episode of what you'd done. Then I went and filled up my tank as well as those of four other people in the petrol station, -- on your credit card. The guy with the big motor home took 150 gallons and was extremely grateful!
I gave your shoes to a homeless guy outside Vinnie Van Go Go's, along with all the cash in your wallet. [That made his day!]
I then threw your wallet into the big pink "pimp mobile" that was parked at the curb ..... after I broke the windshield and side window and keyed the entire driver's side of the car.
Later, I called a bunch of phone sex numbers from your cell phone. The phone company just now shut down the line, although I only used the phone for a little over a day now, so what 's going on with that? Earlier, I managed to get in two threatening phone calls to the DA's office and one to the FBI, while mentioning President Obama as my possible target .
The FBI guy seemed really intense and we had a nice long chat (I guess while he traced your number etc.).
In a way, perhaps I should apologize for not killing you ... but I feel this type of retribution is a far more appropriate punishment for your threatened crime. I wish you well as you try to sort through some of these rather immediate pressing issues, and can only hope that you have the opportunity to reflect upon, and perhaps reconsider, the career path you've chosen to pursue in life. Remember, next time you might not be so lucky. Have a good day!
Thoughtfully yours,

1 comment:

  1. I love that letter! It might even be appropriate in some SA situations, except I don't think our crooks can read...