After a fairly predictable Friday night, I spent Saturday with my Fake Fiance.
We thought it would be a really good idea to smoke a spliff on top of a building in Braamfontein.
And for a while, it was. (A good idea). We had to climb through an attic on the 11th floor of this building, which was chockers full of air conditioning cooling machinery, pipes and whirring machines.
This is important.
We sat and stared at Hillbrow and the mine dumps and thought profound thoughts like how one needs to work to find the beauty in Johannesburg, but once you realise how beautiful it is, it's so worth it. You really appreciate it.
Then we fucking locked ourselves in the air conditioning attic.
Loud machines, claustrophobia, goofed and paranoid, suddenly things weren't so great anymore.
Would people forget us? And wonder weeks later, “Say, whatever happened to the bitch anyway?” After eating dirt off the floor to survive, would we die before a search team found us?
Thought phoning C in the Free State would ease the panic: “HELP, My God we're going to die! People will only find our skeletal, starved bodies up here and oh my god it's so stuffy and help, and we can't open the door...”
C: I'm in Viljoenskroon. What do you suppose I do from here? What if you starve to death?
“Oh thank heavens! Holy mackerel! Fake Fiance got the door open, we'll be fine thanks bye.”
We were on the verge of frenzy. Would've Jabulani the security guard found us? “Hmmm. they've been up there for three weeks now, let me go see what they're doing up there.”
Juiced and disorientated, we got out. And my mum phoned me in the middle of buying the sweet Mary Jane. In the middle of a drug deal.
Wearing my fake engagement ring out definitely has it's values. Like with the dude who decided to spade me at the end of the predictably-dull debaucherous evening on Friday. Sitting down, he asked me why I was there and why I didn't have a boyfriend. I told him “all men suck,” so he carried on and on and on asking me questions, and quite frankly, putting in a lot more work than it was worth. We must've sat there for hours.
Eventually I flashed him the old ring, “look, whatever mate. I'm engaged actually. Have a good evening, bye now.”
Sunday was spent singing to Air Supply with Wild Hair and Teddy. They loved it. No really they did.