I still roll in my 1980s Merc!
After much deliberation and consideration, I decided to stick with my 1980 Mercedes-Benz. After all, it is wholly paid for. Well, it was brought for N$6 000, but that is beside the point. I have seen how my colleagues buy their Land Rovers, BMWs et Al., only to see their precious commodities returned to the bank.
Okay, first things first – I really sympathise with my brothers for losing their valuable possessions. I mean, they must find it really hard to explain such occurrences to their kamborotos. After all, pitching up at the kamboroto’s place with the wheels has been a favourite pastime.
You see, with the real wifey, it is easy to explain such occurrences – not with the girlfriend though. If you are having trouble differentiating between a kamboroto and the wifey, allow me to be of assistance. The wifey is the one you go home to, argue with every night and refuse to leave money for food.
The kamboroto on the other hand, is the one you take on those expensive vacations to Malaysia, pay her university tuition and have her name as the password to your work computer.
Once that precious commodity is gone however, car wash Sundays will never be the same! Somehow, and for reasons beyond comprehension, these Land Rovers and BMWs appear to be more sensitive to dirt than some of our cars. I mean, how on earth do you take your car to the car wash on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday? I travel with my Merc on a gravel road almost every second weekend, yet my beloved commodity is only washed once a month.
Once the car is repossessed, my brothers would try different excuses from “my car is in for service …” to “… I have left it at the farm for the chores there”. If they run out of excuses, they would look you straight in the eye and say “F***k off, I have sold the darn thing. Stop asking me questions.”
Finally, I can now drive my Merc into the car wash and comfortably take up my favourite bay overlooking that table where the three stooges sit. To those of you who do not know who the three stooges are; they are a group of ladies that not only dress to kill, but also have curves in the right places.
I always wondered why they call themselves the three stooges, of only they knew how the name came about. But nonetheless, buying drinks for the three stooges is considered a privilege. Mind you, these ladies do not drink the conventional Black Label like our women from the hood. Nah, that is too cheap for them. They gulp of these new drinks that usually cost an arm and a leg- Smirnoff Ice, Bacardi Breezer, Archers and so on.
Another trick that I will use at the car wash now that the flashy cars are gone is to adopt an entirely new walk as I pass the table of the three stooges. The trick is to walk as if you have a wound in the foot, while rolling the keys of the Merc around your finger. To the untrained eye, that move denotes a man in charge – someone who knows where he is going.
The other day I saw a brother who was rolling in a BMW strolling the streets of Windhoek – on foot. Eish, it was not a pleasant sight; the last time I saw him walk was when he had to seek help after his car had a puncture between Okahandja and Windhoek.
That dude never had to change a tyre in his life – apparently Club Motors would write off the car.
I met one of my friend’s kamborotos in town the other day and when I asked her about my friend, she had no idea whom I was talking about. Not even the mention of the dude’s heyday with his BMW could make the woman recall.
That is the reason why I would never part with my Merc. I mean, girls look at it once and think it is probably driven by some old German ‘toppie’, which is good for me as it saves me the trouble of buying drinks for the three stoogies.
Until then…
[email protected]
Okay, first things first – I really sympathise with my brothers for losing their valuable possessions. I mean, they must find it really hard to explain such occurrences to their kamborotos. After all, pitching up at the kamboroto’s place with the wheels has been a favourite pastime.
You see, with the real wifey, it is easy to explain such occurrences – not with the girlfriend though. If you are having trouble differentiating between a kamboroto and the wifey, allow me to be of assistance. The wifey is the one you go home to, argue with every night and refuse to leave money for food.
The kamboroto on the other hand, is the one you take on those expensive vacations to Malaysia, pay her university tuition and have her name as the password to your work computer.
Once that precious commodity is gone however, car wash Sundays will never be the same! Somehow, and for reasons beyond comprehension, these Land Rovers and BMWs appear to be more sensitive to dirt than some of our cars. I mean, how on earth do you take your car to the car wash on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday? I travel with my Merc on a gravel road almost every second weekend, yet my beloved commodity is only washed once a month.
Once the car is repossessed, my brothers would try different excuses from “my car is in for service …” to “… I have left it at the farm for the chores there”. If they run out of excuses, they would look you straight in the eye and say “F***k off, I have sold the darn thing. Stop asking me questions.”
Finally, I can now drive my Merc into the car wash and comfortably take up my favourite bay overlooking that table where the three stooges sit. To those of you who do not know who the three stooges are; they are a group of ladies that not only dress to kill, but also have curves in the right places.
I always wondered why they call themselves the three stooges, of only they knew how the name came about. But nonetheless, buying drinks for the three stooges is considered a privilege. Mind you, these ladies do not drink the conventional Black Label like our women from the hood. Nah, that is too cheap for them. They gulp of these new drinks that usually cost an arm and a leg- Smirnoff Ice, Bacardi Breezer, Archers and so on.
Another trick that I will use at the car wash now that the flashy cars are gone is to adopt an entirely new walk as I pass the table of the three stooges. The trick is to walk as if you have a wound in the foot, while rolling the keys of the Merc around your finger. To the untrained eye, that move denotes a man in charge – someone who knows where he is going.
The other day I saw a brother who was rolling in a BMW strolling the streets of Windhoek – on foot. Eish, it was not a pleasant sight; the last time I saw him walk was when he had to seek help after his car had a puncture between Okahandja and Windhoek.
That dude never had to change a tyre in his life – apparently Club Motors would write off the car.
I met one of my friend’s kamborotos in town the other day and when I asked her about my friend, she had no idea whom I was talking about. Not even the mention of the dude’s heyday with his BMW could make the woman recall.
That is the reason why I would never part with my Merc. I mean, girls look at it once and think it is probably driven by some old German ‘toppie’, which is good for me as it saves me the trouble of buying drinks for the three stoogies.
Until then…
[email protected]
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