13 November 2017

On (sort of) Shooting my Shot


 Moghel o thirsty!
On a Friday I almost got onto the worst taxi while queueing in Bree, I promptly got off and started ranting to the man publicly drinking beside and updated the Twitter thread of the worst taxi. I watched that taxi fill up and get on its way. Another quantum pulled into our loading bay and got in the front; mentally complained about the shabby seat. The driver was listening to Bafana Bafana on metro fm (he eventually switched ukhozi fm during the trip). In the corner of my eye I saw indoda. He was wearing a well-worn button up (could have been denim or some hard cotton) buttoned all the way with straight jeans and I probably imagined the Timb-esque boots. I used to button all my shirts all the way up when I was 20 and 21 and 22 and eventually they stopped fitting. So I immediately turned to the driver to ask if he knew that guy. He turned to look but wasn't sure so we both looked into the rear view mirror as I indicated him. He was now eating sweet chilli flavoured gogosnacks. He did not know him so, I can't be sure of the words, but I was like iTypes or like I wanna climb or muhle.
Black dating writer, bonang bmoji, bmoji by bonang free

Taxis are the place where I meet people the most. Well, at least people I'm sometimes interested in talking to and (fleetingly) connecting with. The last person I had sex with I met coming off a taxi. My brain was a haze because the driver had stopped at a very bad place for crossing and I was mentally preparing myself and cursing him out. Then this man was saying some shit to me (he'd been sitting behind me) and yeah whatever. I was annoyed and probably late for work and started walking away. He was still trying to talk to me which probably annoyed me some more and I told him I was late and to just gtfo. We had crossed two robots, he brought up the number thing and I sighed, typed and left. I think I told him not to call because I hate phone calls. Honestly, I always give my correct number because men are terror and I never answer phone calls. He smsed etc. He was funny, he was awful and I was me so after months of tediousness, I stopped speaking to him. But maybe he'd stopped first.

So I'm sitting in that taxi on Friday and I'm mumbling too many things and looking into the back of the taxi too often. Jokingly, I say my habit of sitting in the front is robbing of nice things because if I was sitting back there with him. I correct myself and say, of course, I probably wouldn't say anything even if we were next to each other because the valo. So my fairy god taxi driver is gassing me up like he (the object if my thirst) would be shy too to speak. Do women appreciate that men might be neyvas too??? He asks. I do. I pretend to leg it go but start mumbling again like, how do I my number to him ke at least? We decide that my fairy got taxi driver will give it to him. He gets me a piece of paper and pen and I write it down. My plan, if he gets off first, is to just throw the piece of paper at him. I guess? 

We offramp and pass the "Welcome to Soweto" sign and I'm basically DYING. Someone says "after robot" and I blurt out something that translates to "oh Jesu do you think it's him getting off already!!!" And the man who's listening to the radio says huh and stops prematurely. He eventually gets the message and stops correct. The man who was public drinking gets off, his can still in hand. I sigh in relief. I few stops later, I rope the driver into another panic because where is he??? He'd been sitting in an alley seat but moved to the window when his companion got off. 

Dread was setting in: If he got off first, I knew I wouldn't have the guts to give him my number unsolicited or even throw the piece of paper at him. I just wanted to vomit. I was complaining and verbally anxious so the driver says to give him the number and he'll make sure the object of my thirst got it. My stop was nearing and I called it all defeated. As I was getting off I was the object of my thirst also move. I said goodbye, opened the door and heard my fairy god taxi driver say something and THE MAN respond. I got off so fast and closed the door and kept walking without looking back because SHOOK.

I've been waiting for a smol WhatsApp message the whole weekend.
Black dating writer, south african lifestyle blog, bonang bmoji, bmoji by bonang free
Thank you for reading the memoirs of igwababa lami. Read my Bmoji by Bonang Matheba review

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