The One where Tim gets robbed

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It is around 10pm and we’ve stopped at Ultra City, a gas station complex near Middelburg en route from Nelspruit to Joburg, for coffee and cigarettes for the men, a Kit Kat for myself. After resting a bit in the Steers adjacent to the gas station, we meander back into the parking lot towards the Pajero which has suffered unbelievably two flat tires at the hands of two fat nails on our trip to Mozambique.

As we near the vehicle, a scrawny black man in a blue custodian outfit is sweeping up nearby. His head raises and seeing Tony he asks whether we are going south through the nearby toll station. Yes, Tony answers. “Some electricity shortage up there, the toll station isn’t taking cash, you must get pre-paid ticket here at the gas station.” This seems rather ridiculous to all of us, but then again who knows, This Is Africa, right? Tony saunters over to the convenience store to buy said ticket, nobody really knows what he’s talking about. He walks back over to us at the car after about 10 minutes, and we are all getting impatient. Tim decides to go with Tony back into the store, leaving me and Todd near the car.

This isn’t too surprising. If I had only written about half the ridiculous things we have encountered on this trip, you would understand our mentality then at 10pm after driving all day. Said mentality is, “This Is Africa, TIA, Ridiculous but crazy things happen in the Third World.” Todd and I get bored and eventually follow the other two, and as we near the store we see a tall black man rushing out of the store towards his car at the back of the lot, waving a paper ticket, “Thanks for sorting me out, goodnight!” He is directing this comment at another tall, decently dressed black man standing on the stoop of the store, himself holding a ticket in his hand. The custodian sweeper continues to sweep in the periphery.

By now we have been stopped for probably 20 minutes and we are eager to get back on the road to Joburg before it gets too late. Tim and Tony are in the store, and now we see the Man on the stoop with his ticket turn around and look at them. They ask the store clerk for the pre-paid ticket, but the store clerk shakes her head. The Man tells Tim that he needs to pay for the ticket via the ATM in the back of the store. Tim and Tony head back there and after numerous attempts cannot seem to insert Tim’s Australian ATM card into the slot. It seems to be jammed. The Man shuffles back to help them. “’Ere, poosh dis button ‘ere,” he points. Tim pushes, no luck. At this point Todd starts nearing the ATM to see what’s happening, and after 10 days of traveling with 3 heavily testosterone-ed men I learn to stay out in times of perplexion or difficulties until summoned. I pace around and take an extreme interest in South African branded potato chips near the front of the store.

Todd tries to crane his neck around Tony, Tim, and the Man and starts asking questions. He reckons we should just drive to the toll gate and see what’s going on first. Another black man comes from out of nowhere and shoos Todd aside. The passive dread-locked Australian he is, he can’t be bothered anymore and joins me in debating the merits of Spare Ribs versus Sour Cream ‘n Onions.

Eventually somehow Tim gives his ATM card to the Man to try inserting for him. The Man slides it in and orders Tim to put in his ATM PIN, barking orders to press this button here, type in the PIN there. It is all very loud and strange but I keep my distance.

Next thing I know, Tim and Tony have been standing at the ATM trying to retrieve Tim’s card for about 10 minutes, pressing all buttons and swearing all expletives. The Man is gone, after Tony got uncomfortable and told him to get lost. The ABSA machine seems to have eaten his card. Motherfucker, Tim and Todd fly back to Sydney in two days. Keep trying, follow these instructions, call this number. How the hell are we going to get Tim’s card back out at 10pm in the middle of South Africa and no ABSA bank in sight?

Wait a second. Did you actually see the Man insert the card? Did you see the card actually go in? Is there any possibility that, somehow, The Man distracted Tim with all the pressing of the buttons and pointing of the screens and just slipped the card right up into his sleeve?

No, we didn’t see the card go in. And actually, the Man was standing right there next to him as he watched Tim insert his PIN over and over. Tim swears and realizes he has been scammed.

We run outside and see the Man is long gone. In fact, so is the man that was talking to Todd. And so is the first man who left with his “ticket.” A glance back towards the convenience store, and the blue custodian’s sweeper and bin are laid neatly against the wall. The custodian is nowhere to be seen while a security guard from across the way glances at us with a nonchalant look in his eyes.

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Comments

[Greg]

schoolboy error!
This is the problem with excess testosterone - it clouds the faculties. To actually place one's bank card in the hands of someone you don't know, beggars belief. Must be good weed.