Doodler, commenting on Irish Savant blog, said
“I know several black professionals, but when one gets to know them well, you begin to understand the chasm between us. For a rapid understanding, get one drunk - their true colours become readily apparent”.
Unlike many white South Africans who have to suffer the predations of the faeces species daily in their lives and workplaces, my face-to-face encounters with these parasitical creatures are happily rare, mostly car guards, building wekkas, the occasional over-promoted minor bureaucrat, and the like, or should I say, the dislike! And although it is good and advisable to try to keep it that way, I do have one big regret.
Purely for scientific purposes, and the furthering of my own "Bantu Education", I would dearly love to meet some of these fabulous (but almost certainly fake) black diamonds we keep hearing about, and discover what (stolen) mechanism makes them tick. But I have little contact with any AA-infested wekker-place nor any BEE dis-industry.
However this following story of a chance recent encounter confirms 100% what Doodler said above.
At a new CT wine bar we met a pleasant Dutch couple (30-ish) and a very well-groomed, smartly-dressed, very affable, black gentleman, a lawyer of some sort (at least in its own estimation), and a connoisseur of fine wines. Eureka! Maybe I had at last sighted that mythical African beast, a sophisticated black gentleman!
On being invited to join their table the smooth-talking SBG displayed his sophistication by launching into a discussion of fine red (nevertheless whitey, if you get my drift) wines. It soon became apparent that the woman, a tall busty blonde, had been er, making amends for apartheid by engaging in bestiality, er, close inter-personal activities with the SBG.
With the help of SBG’s sophisticated chat, we were all getting along so well that the Dutchman suggested we go to a nearby favourite bistro of his. Turned out the prices were somewhat more sophisticated than we were accustomed to but, never mind, our SBG had taken charge of the wine ordering department, and as the usual restaurant convention is that the person in charge of the wine is the one presented the bill, I thought all was fine.
We were enjoying our new friends and I, especially, was more than a little fascinated with the SBG. As he discoursed along in his amiable fashion, it crossed my mind that maybe our SBG was the ideal of the Holy Grail of liberal equalitarian fantasy.
Here was maybe a genuine black diamond - a cultured and civilized being from the noble but downtrodden race that had been so grievously traumatized by (in the measured words of Noble Prize Bishoprick Tutu) “The Unspeakable Horrors of Apartheid”, damningly indicted by the Orgasm of Useless Nations as “a Crime against Humanity” (sic) and, with nary a hint of histrionic hyperbole, a “Holocaust comparable with THE Holocaust” (words to that effect), by the incontestable authority of the faultlessly virtuous and saintly Lord Madiba, blessings be upon thee.
Unaware of my musings our SBG continued to display his leadership qualities, sophistication and, a hopefully fat wallet, by ordering 3 more expensive bottles of wine, on top of the 2 or 3 already consumed. But inevitably whitey’s stuff did its devilish work on the SBG - the fragile mask of sophistication dropped like a stone and the pent-up rage against whitey’s achievMUNTS erupted in a torrent of infantile resentMUNT pouring like vomit from the suited monkey.
Not wishing to assist the SBG in, what had by now become, his feverish quest for the “Holy Grail of Kaffir entitleMUNT” (the cherished 100% discount!!!), I somehow resisted the enormous temptation to chime in. All to no avail, as the arrival of the sophisticated bill was the cue for our (not-so) SBG to go shake hands with his best friend. Not having brought enough cash I paid the bill by card and the Dutchies gave me their cash.
When our now rather unsophisticated BG came tottering back, and I asked for his share, the wine fancier exclaimed “Eish Man, eh no marney..!”
Long story short, Blondie paid the missing share a couple of days later – almost certainly her money not the SBG´s who, she informed us, "she´d dropped". Sadly, we never saw our Dutch friends again, I suspect because I attempted to give them an unwelcome crash course in Bantu Education (ie, educating whitey about the Bantu).
