I work across the road from the sadza joint, and when I can (or when Vusa’s kind enough to buy) I take the short stroll to number 13 for a graze. Situated where I am, I’m also the first to arrive, and can position myself strategically in the sunny corner before the masses cruise in.
So last time I went (read: Monday), there I was in my corner, eating my ($500) sa-and-beef quietly in the corner, when this loud, obnoxious female (with a nice ass) walks up. Of course, we’re up on the balcony, and the rest of her (male) work chums are out on the lawn, so she begins a long and boring (and LOUD) discussion with them. And she’s two metres away from me. And she’s screaming at the top of her voice. Like, excuse me, we’re trying to eat here without a dissertation on how many chinas are are hitting on you via text. Fuck off.
Today, I was well into my lunch when, again, the Sadza Bitch walks up. With 3 (male) colleagues. First off, what is with this bitch and men? Also, ass is not so nice. Anyway, they sit down quietly enough, order a little louder, their order comes…then it begins. Oh dear God, there’s no ketchup at the table.
“Meeeeeeh-moooooh!” – I can feel my blood racing, heart beats faster, my head’s gonna explode.
Memo, not knowing what’s good for her, traipses up to the balcony.
“Hapana tomato sauce. I need tomato sauce, handidye pasina tomato sauce inini!” – Short of breath. Dying.
As if that was the cue she needed, the rest of the convo is conducted at ear-shattering volume, and I can’t take it anymore, I run before I say somethin clever (or really dumb, considering male colleagues).
Like, I bet you don’t worry about ketchup with a dick in your mouth, Sadza Bitch.