After eight weeks of living like a hermit, I was overjoyed to hear that I could return to work, even if it was only for a week. Since the Covid-19 coronavirus and its disastrous effect on the economy, South African businesses have been grasping at straws to earn an income in some form or another. But, you’ve heard all that before.
When I received the shift schedule, the first thing I did was send a request asking if I could wear my robe to the office. These are, after all, unusual circumstances (I was left on read). The weekend before, I felt compelled to clean out Red Bull cans amounting to approximately three litres from my car. These were necessary for the spring cleaning project I took on when lockdown started, which, of course, is ongoing.
The alarm goes off. It’s 06:00. The time has come. I’d hoped to get up at 05:00 and go for a quick stroll, but let’s be real here. Yummm… Nescafé Gold and that first morning ciggie from what has now become the black market. Ain’t nuthin’ like it.
My routine has pretty much stayed the same: make the bed, feed the cats, meditate, get dressed (sort of). Today, however, is different, because somewhere in-between my re-enactment of a scene from a Disney princess movie, it’s suddenly 06:40. So far, 20 positive morning affirmations videos have played in the background and I have not paid any attention (they say your sub-conscious picks it up or something anyway, so, ya). And off we go!
Despite the fact that life as we know it is dead and gone, there seems to be some sense of normality. The human species’ ability to adapt to a new world after the most unexpected events or crises is quite admirable. That is, of course, after we’ve thrown fits over toilet paper.
Traffic… I love traffic. Why? Because it fills me with gratitude that I do not have to get up at 04:00 and wait in queues of even more traffic to get to work, like the big city folk.
I can’t deal…The world is burning and all the radio stations are still intolerable. What will it be today, Huawei P Smart… Deathcore, pop, greatest hits of the ‘80s, or “Ai My Lam” by Ryno Velvet? (Side note: What is Barney’s “If All The Raindrops” doing on my playlist?) I eventually decide on The Boomtown Rats’ “I Don’t Like Mondays”.
I turn up the volume as I puff on whatever cigarette I was fortunate to get this week, hoping an official doesn’t spot me. I’m not willing to throw this one out – every drag counts, right up to the stompie.
Remember that thing I said about traffic? The difference between us and the larger cities is that what we lack in numbers, we make up for in utter disregard of one another. In fact, it has been proven that Mbombela has the worst drivers in the country. I read it in some report somewhere. It was also confirmed by the driver who completely ignored the yield sign, because, yes, where you need to be is much more important than where I need to be.
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Moving along… Ah, yes. Two minutes to 08:00. Just in time. Call me Baby Driver. Everything is pretty much the same, only these days, my hair is purple. Lilac, to be exact. And I’ve learned how to make pap (staple food, you know). We’ve all become accustomed to the routine by now… tick the boxes, check your temperature, wear your mask, sanitise, don’t do that ridiculous elbow greeting.
Having spent several weeks meditating and using all kinds of coping methods to avoid a breakdown, I was prepared to peacefully ease into the regular work routine. As if. It was deadline upon deadline upon deadline. Am I complaining? Absolutely not. This is possibly the best thing that could happen for a local media house, considering current circumstances. Even the smaller publications have started printing again.
The week went as follows: get up, coffee, double-clutch, realise I’m late, work, office banter, work some more, get home, have Simba chips on bread, shower, apologise to my cats for neglecting them, pretend to do guided sleep hypnosis, do it all again. Alas, like all great things, it was over in the blink of an eye. I shall now return to wanting to complain about not wanting to be at work. TGIF, right?
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With that being said, Lowvelder remains the watchdog of the community, and has been since its inception as a newspaper in Barberton back in 1886. As Warren Buffet put it, “Newspapers continue to reign supreme in the delivery of local news. If you want to know what’s going on in your town – whether the news is about the mayor or taxes or high school football – there is no substitute for a local newspaper that is doing its job. A reader’s eyes may glaze over after they take in a couple of paragraphs about national or international news; but a story about the reader himself or his neighbours will be read to the end.”
Get your copy of Lowvelder online and in-store.
Disclaimer: I can neither confirm nor deny that I have purchased illegal cigarettes since the ban on nicotine products. I am trying to quit smoking, though.
