He picked me up in a non-descript vehicle, appropriate for his 26 years and for a second I admired his unpretentious, down to earth approach.
Then we went to a trendy bar that was starting to fill up soon after we arrived.
He got himself an orange juice and return to stand with me. I had to remind him that I would also like a drink. “Oh, what would you like?”
When I told him “a gin and tonic” he struggled to put the two together, “A gin and ..?”
“Tonic,” I said, “gin and tonic”. I went with him to stand at the bar to make sure he carried out the detail correctly, realising intelligence was not something he had in abundance. But when he pulled out a wad of notes to pay, I assumed money was plentiful.
We proceeded with strained conversation and the oddly understood intention of continuing to supper as that was the programme for the said date.
Driving around Johannesburg, I suggested a few places as we past them. He declined on all of them until a KFC came into few. “Let’s go to Kentucky Fried Chicken,” he said. “Yes let’s go there,” I said, thinking I was in on the joke.
But then he quickly pulled into the KFC parking and we went in to order. By this time I had a debilitating stomach ache which seemed to fit in perfectly with his plan. “Let’s get nuggets,” he said. “Okay,” I said, not given a chance to order for myself.
Before getting back to the car, he made a trip to the toilet, information he was eager to share with me, not so the nuggets. Lucky for him, I could not trust where his hands had been and since the six tiny nuggets were to be shared with Gods own utensils, I called off sick and told him to take me home.