In troubled times like these it’s the little things that give pleasure. I’ve spent the past week religiously observing the lockdown and looking out enviously on the empty vineyards I could be walking through for some exercise.
Even though the land belongs to us collectively, we are not allowed to use it; presumably because we can’t be trusted to keep a safe distance from our neighbours if we are out for a walk. But we are allowed to go in search for food in a shopping mall where we will, as likely as not, be in much closer proximity to other people than we would ever be on a 43-hectare estate. But rules are rules and everybody is terrified of falling foul of the law and being made to do twenty press-ups by our friendly local SAPS.
So, on day two of the lockdown, I decided to see if it would be possible to do my 10 000 steps a day for my Discovery Vitality points. Spurred on by the news that some bored lunatic in the UK had run the equivalent of a half marathon on the balcony of his flat (the people in the flat below must have loved that), I decided to give it a try on my stoep and discovered that I could clock up 1 000 steps in just over ten minutes by repeatedly walking up and down.
Captive tiger
I now know what a captive tiger must feel like in a zoo cage. Hitting the 10 000 step target has been a doddle and I’m now well ahead of my usual monthly target – when I do actually have the freedom to walk on the beach in the morning but choose to stay in bed instead. I will never take a walk on the beach for granted again. Can you imagine the frustration of owning one of those hectically expensive beachfront apartments in Clifton or Camps Bay and being taunted every day by the view of the unusable beach? No, me neither.
If I do manage to do all my steps, complete all my medical checks this year and retain Diamond Vitality status, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. Mrs B and I have manically chased this increasingly difficult-to-achieve health target for years now and our sole aim is to get 35% off domestic air fares and cheaper car hire.
Maybe Discovery could think of another reward, such as a case of prohibition gin
Since it doesn’t look as though any of us will be going anywhere soon, maybe Discovery could think of another reward, such as a case of prohibition gin.
Having honed my domestic skills over the past week, I decided to make for the shops this morning to bring in some essential supplies. Since only one person is allowed in a vehicle, apparently, we have to toss for the privilege of driving 10kms to the local shopping centre and checking if the outside world is littered with uncollected corpses yet. My local Woollies opens at 8, normally, and so I arrived at 7:45 to form an orderly queue of one. While I was congratulating myself on my good fortune, somebody pointed out that Woollies had changed opening hours and would now be opening at 9. I decided to wait, and pretty soon a couple of guys in face masks grabbed trollies, sanitized the handles and stood at a safe distance behind me chatting affably.
Men in masks
Crowd psychology is a strange thing and although nobody had been waiting outside Woollies prior to me for the doors to open, in over an hour the sight of three men in masks forming a queue sent panic through the crowd and within fifteen minutes the queue was 100-metres long and carried on lengthening.
I have never been at the front of a queue in such desperate times and I must say it gave me quite a buzz to know that the first choice of bananas would be mine. The doors opened just before 9 and the manager announced that they would be letting the elderly in first. Some coffin dodgers who were obviously in the know had been lurking around the front of the queue with trollies, and swanned in, smirking, ahead of the rest of us. I made to move in to the store since I had been at the head of the queue for over an hour, but the doorkeeper didn’t look happy. ‘How do you define elderly?’ I asked him. ‘People over 65,’ he replied. ‘Bingo,’ I said and quickly got my hands sanitized and made for the bananas.
There are three problem issues with this elderly-people-first business. Firstly, is there a ranking system whereby an 80-year-old scores over a mere 75-year-old stripling? In which case, we will all need to carry ID before we can be let in to shop.
Visible decrepitude?
Is it a case of visible decrepitude maybe? In which case, I can summon all my acting talents, apply some ageing make up before I go shopping and feign a dottiness at the Woollies door, with appropriate shaking and dribbling, and, in a quaking voice, ask the nice young man at the door whether I will need my ration book.
Once safely in the store, I will undergo a miraculous transformation worthy of the New Testament and make immediately for the fresh bananas en route to the rotisserie chickens.
As a fully qualified ‘elderly’ person, I have to ask why on earth we should take precedence over a mother of three young children who also happens to be queuing for food? I appreciate that it’s highly respectful of supermarkets to treat us with such dignity, but the reality is that it will not be us who lead South Africa out of the post-apocalyptic nightmare. We are yesterday’s news.
I tweeted that I had been first in the Woollies queue, and a couple of friends who live locally said that they had visited the same shop later and there were no queues. But there was no fresh fruit or vegetables on the shelves either. Sort of proves my point, doesn’t it?
The views of the writer are not necessarily the views of the Daily Friend or the IRR
If you like what you have just read, subscribe to the Daily Friend