Criminal foodstuffs

One of the original ideas I had for this blog was to record all the bizarre things that have happened to me. I don't think I have a particularly fascinating life, but some friends at university were always saying I should write a book called "The life of_ "(<== insert Po's real name here) because basically I am a freak who does freakish things.

I think mostly they were referring to the fact that I would buy coffee every single day and almost every time I would drop it while trying to carry files and books and open the door to our building. I bet there are permanent coffee stains in those hallowed halls with my name on them. My life was on action replay.

But I think that would make for boring reading.

However some other weird stuff has happened to me. Like for instance, I have been a victim of CRIME. Yes, me. A South African. But not just any crime. Special crime.

Wait for it...

I was samped.

This adventure happens in Cape Town. The story actually makes me feel very guilty, and you shall see why.

A friend known as Mango and I were walking from Mowbray* to somewhere near Groote Schuur Hospital to visit someone. While we were walking a group of girls passed us. They were eating a delicious meal of piping hot takeaway samp**.

As they passed, I thought that one of the girls said something to me. I didn't hear what she said, but in my sad little brain, I thought she might be asking for money, as this happened to me frequently in the Mowbray area. I was not sure, but just in case, I shook my head ever so slightly and mouthed no, and we walked on.

The next thing I knew, we were samped and the girls marched off.

When I say we, I should probably add that almost the entire quantity of hot samp covered my friend. I had a few mild splats on my shoe and clothes but Mango was coated in samp. It looked like some drunk had puked all over her.

We were in shock, trying to work out exactly what had happened. I really was not sure if my slight shake of the head to an imaginary request for money had triggered samp falling from the sky, but if there was a trigger then that must have been it. The fact that none of the vengeful samp was actually on me caused me much mirth and Mango some consternation. She did not enjoy the experience, I can tell you.

We walked the rest of the way all sampy and gross and a startled jogger freaked out at what he thought was a puke-covered girl, which caused Mango to lose it a bit and tell the jogger off. Other passersbye had similar reactions. I was in hysterics for most of the way.

Waste of good samp, in my opinion.

I know my assumption that the samper was asking me for money was just terrible. It was my immediate reaction when anyone I did not know ever spoke to me on the streets, because it often happened. I assume the girl and her friends were just eating and passing by and said something (who knows what) and I misunderstood. I feel bad. Talk about assumptions being the mother of all samp-ups. I hate assumptions. They are evil. And I was a prime suspect.

But it was fucking funny.

*mediumly dodgy area of Cape Town, also where my free Willy encounter occurred.

** a degermed product of maize. Apparently.