“Oh my Sweet soft Jesus, are you from Centre Management? Please listen to my side of the story and get me out of your nightmare centre.
I had a horrific day at your shopping mall and found that your stated ‘convenience policy’ is bollocks.
Why must I pay for secure parking? It costs me two rand fifty a kilometre of petrol to arrive at your shopping mall and your business complex is ten kilometres away from my apartment. You obviously need my patronage and support for your tenants, but even before I spend a cent in your stores I must pay at your boom gates for entry. It is like being invited for dinner at friends and then being billed for the meal and drinks.
This morning I thought there was no attendant at the boom controls, but after closer inspection I found your employee dosing on the cubicle floor. He was plastered and I was unable to wake him and released the boom myself. I left ten rand under the attendance sheet of your inebriated staff member’s table because I am not an opportunist.
On entry I drove seven levels up only to find that there was no parking available, so I decided to park at the loading zone because, as you know, parking is costly. As I was walking away from my vehicle I was crowded by one foreigner trying to sell off a bag of hangers and another trying to sell me a pack of Jockey panties.
When I refused to purchase anything from them one grabbed hold of my leg telling me that he was on a welfare allowance. The other one tried to rob me.
I survived that little ordeal by applying some elementary Karate moves and ran into the relative safety of the mall, feeling more than a little bit agitated. The whole business excited my bowels beyond measure and I urgently needed to get to a toilet.
With a brisk, and jack-knife contorted walk, I entered the toilet only to find that I must pay five rand to get access to the loo. Feeling the frontal and violent internal thrusts of my need, I kept my cool and dropped a coin into the slot. It swallowed the first coin and the second coin got stuck.. These were desperate times and, as I felt dripping heat at my zipper, I went to the hand basin to relieve myself.
The cleaner caught me red-handed and hit me, Jet Lee style, with her mop and called me a messy eunuch who deserves to rot in hell. I crawled out of your dirty ablutions room in a critical condition to flee your martial arts auntie. Somehow I got to my car only to find that it was clamped and a note that stated that all collected monies would be donated to the underprivileged was stuck under the windscreen wiper.
The cleaner lady, who had followed me, called Security and pointed me out as the culprit that soiled her wash basin. The guards were now also shouting at me because they received complaints from the surveillance control room that I had been observed earlier avoiding paying for parking and that I had also been seen assaulting two poor members of the public on the lot.
I was surrounded by hostile voices of guards, cleaners and the foreigner hawkers who then gave me a lights out beating. When I regained consciousness I found myself in your cells with one of the guards going through my belongings. He took a hundred rand out of my wallet and, when I shouted at him, I collected another knob on my head.
Can you please release me now and get me to call my lawyer sir? Oh you are sorry and you want to offer me compensation? What!!!!! 25 % discount on my Edgars account if I buy goods for more than a thousand rands and a free Chico the clown desert at Spur Restaurant if I buy the Strongman combo?”
As I looked at him Hannibal was rising inside me and the only way I could lull my inner monster was by singing Kumbaya my Lord.