Sunday, April 19, 2009

The great Gonzo scooter assault

Just like every time, we swung by the bottle store after surfing the East Pier. And just like every time, we bought a two-litre scrotum of OB’s, from the Solly Kramer’s in main street.
There were four of us, so we managed to klap the whole thing by the time we got to Grahamstown. Plus a loaf of white bread, a big packet of Nik-Naks and a third of a bankie. Just like every time.
Only as we rolled down Bathurst Street did we remember that it was our residence’s annual house party. Luckily the Graham Hotel off sales was on the way. We got vodka and crème soda, which would go well with the punch.
By 6pm we were slamdancing to Come On Eileen in the common room. The first of the Oriel Hall girls had barely poked their cautious noses in the room and we’d already knocked over the drinks table and torn the curtains off the walls. Then Grant asked me to come with him to PE. He wasn’t sure of his way to the airport and he needed a local to direct him.
I schemed why not and hopped in his Golf GTS with some alies for the road. Just like every time.
By the time we got to PE I was no use to Grant . All the roads looked the same and I couldn’t remember if the airport was in third, fourth or fifth avenue.
We found it by fluke. Grant sommer parked his car in the loading zone and sprinted into departures. He ran right past my mate Chappie, who had just landed, or was dropping someone off or something. By this stage I was so blitzed, Chappie must’ve thought I was on crystal meth or someone. It was about 8pm.
Chappie dropped me off at my folks’ place. No one was home, but I still had a key, so I was able to let myself in and then get my sister’s scooter out of the garage and head out into the wild night for Bananas, capital of the PE nightlife.
When I got to the Summies hotel, I stashed the white helmet next to a white wall to, like, camouflage it. Soon I was king of the dancefloor at Bananas. B-52’s, The Cure, TSOL, Men At Work, eVoid, Oingo Boingo… just like every time.
Kurt Buchner was there and all these ous from Wild Side Surf Club. Me and Patrick Parkins went for a walk on the beach with these two girls when Died In Your Arms came on.
When I came out the club to leave, someone had kyfed the helmet. So began a fraught and nerve-wracking trip back to Central, posted, on a scooter without a helmet.
The cops caught me doing about 40 kays an hour, on the pavement outside the Hotel Elizabeth.
I explained to them how I was on my sister’s scooter and I didn’t have the key for the helmet lock, so I’d hidden it by a white wall because it was the same colour as the helmet. But a thief had obviously managed to spot the helmet, leaving me no choice but to drive home without it…
Not missing a beat, the cop asks, “Het jy gedrink vanaand?”
I reply, “No, of course not.”
Just like every time.

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