CHARLES Glass probably saved my life.
Not because I was dying of thirst or anything like that, but because an eight-pack of what many regard as the ‘national brew’ also happened to make a handy weapon to fend off a knife attack.
There I was, box of wines under my left arm, carry-pack of Castle Lite clutched in my right hand (thanks to the handy plastic holder) and wrestling mentally with what to put down first to reach my car keys in my left pocket.
My reverie was suddenly disturbed by: “Give me money!”
I looked up to see this rather desperate looking fellow pointing some sort of sharp object at me.
What instinct made me do it, I can’t say, but I swatted the guy on the side of the head with the carry pack. I doubt he was badly injured as it was a glancing blow (an eight-pack is heavy, you know, even though it says ‘Lite’). But he was so surprised that he disappeared back over the grass embankment where he had obviously been lurking earlier.
The whole incident took a matter of seconds.
Now what to do? My assailant had disappeared. I was nearly late for my tee-off so I thought there was no point in calling out the Mounties and risk missing my golf.
However, I did phone the bottle store owner (who shall remain anonymous) and he has subsequently taken every reasonable step to ensure that no other customer will be mugged in that area again.
Should I have reported it to the police? Yes. Should I have been traumatised? Yes.
But the sad fact is that I actually felt sorry for the guy. He was obviously poor and so desperate that he was daring enough to take on a man much larger than himself, armed with a potentially lethal weapon… like a carry-pack. It was like taking a knife to a gunfight. Nothing beats Charles Glass.
If he had asked me nicely, I would have given him some money with pleasure. In fact, I keep a stash of R5 coins in the car for just such an occasion. And, if the sad story is really moving, I have been known to part with R100 or more.
Our jails are already brimming with these type of people who have been driven to a life of petty crime through desperation. I feel no anger towards them, but rather towards our government and our society in general for letting it happen.
South Africa is also not for sissies and, best of all, I didn’t even break a beer.
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