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Author Topic:

Little adventures that spice up your day

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Brian
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I think therefor I am, I think


« Reply #15 on: April 20, 2011, 14:35:48 PM »

enjoy the ride Faerie, but don't lose your mythical 'soul'
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Faerie
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« Reply #16 on: April 20, 2011, 15:00:09 PM »

, go to HR.

Heh, I AM HR....  Shocked

Thanks GCG, the experience will look good, which is why I jumped at the offer.


enjoy the ride Faerie, but don't lose your mythical 'soul'

I'm too full of sh*t Brian, the lot here probably wont like me, but I'm ok with that, I'm just doing a job.
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Faerie
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« Reply #17 on: April 21, 2011, 07:55:41 AM »

and to think, last year April I was being persecuted and worked out of my job because of my outspoken atheism, now I'm on the same level as my ex-boss.... funny how life rolls.  Grin
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GCG
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« Reply #18 on: April 21, 2011, 10:34:56 AM »

dont you just wish you ex boss would make some kind of comment about it, then you can say 'pray about it'  and laugh like a maniac.
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Faerie
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« Reply #19 on: June 15, 2011, 08:56:14 AM »

My s/o is involved in a project taking him to various mines across the country at the moment.  So last night he's on his way back home from Orkney when he is accosted with what he initially thought to be a cow, he swung out but hit the obstacle on the left side of the car which simply disintegrates on impact.

Upon getting out and trying to ascertain what on earth appeared in front of him on the godforsaken road near Fochville, he finds himself next to a Boerboel the size of a horse. A massive animal, poor thing survived the initial impact but was bleeding internally and mangled beyond any survival.  Being a softy, with a special place in his heart for animals of all kinds, he tries to lift the dog into the car, but couldnt even heave it halfway up, it fortunately (under the circumstances) didnt suffer long and expired.

However, the car is'nt looking too good and the front tyre is on the rim, upon looking about, he notices a little farm house about a km away, and he decides to take a trod there to see if he can find himself some assistance.

At the house he is met with a myriad of dogs, about six or seven of dubious breeds and sizes, the front door opened and a "tannie" with the most impossible shade of red hair comes lumbering towards the gate, wading through dogs going moggy and making a helluva noise.

He explains to her above the noise of the barking dogs that he has had an altercation with a dog and whether it might be one of hers, she stood back and inspected the pack of mongrels and claimed that it is unlikely. (It was likely IMO, she was concerned about costs methinks).  The dogs at this point though, has worked themselves into such a frenzy that they started attacking each other and the tannie encouraged the madness by screaming at the animals.  Next moment, the front door banged open, and a young red headed boy (ah, the blessings of genetics) of around 8 years old comes storming out with a pellet gun, and whilst alternating between shouting at his mother and hollering at the dogs, started shooting at his OWN dogs.....

Now, we're delicate people, us city dwellers, and this scenario was way too reminiscent of some horror movie to my poor traumatised S/O, and he attempted to retreat gracefully, but as his luck would have it, the tannie wasnt going to allow potential company to leave in a hurry, and she grabbed him by the arm and firmly guided him into her house for a "washup".

Being dragged passed the redheaded horror with the gun in his hands, leaving behind the dogs tearing out pieces of flesh from one another, he was ushered into a plaashuis living room.

The first thing he noticed was the smell.... a deep laying smell of meat that has been boiled to the point of inedibility, the second was that he could barely see any walls, it was covered with shelves packed with trinkets and STUFF.  My S/O is a bit of a metroman, things needs to be just "so" and should also look just "so".  This was not "so".....

He kept his cool and politely washed his hands in the offered bathroom and then very firmly insisted to leave.  He fled.  He got the car going and found a more civilised place to stop and do a spoeg-en-plak to get himself back home and civilisation.

He admitted that he's not certain what traumatised him more, the actual accident or the revelation that there are people out there that lives in a version of a Stephen King novel.

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Mandarb
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« Reply #20 on: June 15, 2011, 12:05:11 PM »

There's some basis to reality of those novels, and movies like Texas Chainsaw Massacre. And Saffers can be just as bad as rednecks.
I've had some experiences among family Sad, and friends of family on farms and plots. Some places can be fun, but other places, you just can't wait to get the hell out.
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GCG
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« Reply #21 on: June 15, 2011, 12:24:46 PM »

freaking hell.  inbred much?  i wonder if it would be helpfull to call the local spca on this lot?
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Faerie
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« Reply #22 on: June 15, 2011, 13:13:57 PM »

freaking hell.  inbred much? 

I was being politically correct... but yes, it was quite clearly on my mind...

Quote
i wonder if it would be helpfull to call the local spca on this lot?

Nope, they'd just get more to shoot at, and according to the S/O, they were having a tiff with the next door farmer because of his cows munching their crops... which probably explained the smell of overboiled meat in the house... not the type of people to get mixed up with IMO.

On a financial note, the damages came to a quoted R32 000, lovely stuff, all because of a (massive) dog on a country road in the darkness of night...
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GCG
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« Reply #23 on: June 15, 2011, 13:36:57 PM »

goes to show, gingers..... Tongue
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Lurkie
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« Reply #24 on: June 16, 2011, 14:34:30 PM »

Fochville is such a nice place. Home of the cremora pie! And you can buy ancient Tassies from the President SPAR that is way too good for cooking.

I was based there for 6 months some years ago. Lasted all of about 2 weeks, preferring to rise at crackers and commute each day.
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Faerie
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« Reply #25 on: July 15, 2011, 08:18:15 AM »

So last night the little light on the dashboard tells me "hoezit". I coast around a bit for the nearest garage, and the friendly chap leaning on his broom happily shares the news that they're empty.  Undecided Thus my search for fuel ensues.  Five stations later I decide to preserve whatever still remains in the tank, and coast on home.

The S/O's words of greeting was ominous, "hows your fuel?", he managed to fill up on the sixth garage he found, so at least we've got one vehicle that will remain operational for the next week or so.

This morning I start the tjor with some trepidation, I'm certain I've got enough to get me to work and back for today at least, but I'm one of those overly cautious people and that little light on the dash is downright annoying.

I cruise slowly pass the stations littered along my way to work, but they're all have cones set out in the bays and the staff is wrapped up warm in nooks and crannies watching the traffic go by.

Entering the city centre, I recall the garage on the corner of my workplace, and as I near it, I note it is chock-and-block packed with taxis, I make a "shap-rite", and nudge my little hatch in between the bleating taxis and milling crowds.

I am instantly surrounded by masses of shoddy looking people attempting to flog something or another to me, and once again I find myself as the only white, blondhaired antie in a crowd of really different looking people.  An oddity if you like. Suddently this little chap with a BIG voice starts hollering at the crowd around my car.

"Buggr off!, F**** Mamaparra!"
Hey Marram!, you want 93??!!!!
I will give you R150 ONLY YOU HEAR???
Reverse! Reverse!, Hosa, Hosa, HOOOOOOSAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!, rite, rite, NO MAN MAMPARRA, F**** LEFT!!!

I get the car wedged in between two taxis which really shouldnt be at a petrol station but ideally in a junk yard somewheres, but never mind, the pump is in reach and that green pipe is snaking into my tank.  All the while this chap is issuing a steady flow of profanities and chasing off beggars, curious onlookers and taxis trying to push my stationary car out of the way, simultaneously.

He finishes up, I hold out the R150 to him, and as he takes it, I say to him " My man, today YOU are my hero!".  For the first time in 10 minutes the man stops dead, speechless, looks me in they eye, and responds, "Marram, today, You made my f***** year."

 Cheesy
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GCG
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« Reply #26 on: July 15, 2011, 12:19:00 PM »

love it!!!!
i have a habit of allways greeting service-people politely. striking up random conversations.  usually i get a stock standard response of hallo and koebaai.  sometimes a character will engage you properly.  sometimes you het ignored flatly.  then i get a flap and make a point of asking them what their problem is.
i had an okie this monday at the petrol station greeting with an afrikaans hello, and i greeting him back in afrikaans, and he continued the whole transaction in afrikaans with me, eventhough it was obviously not his easiest language, i thought it was quite sweet.
after having spent three years as a service slave at spur and mr price, i know that someone treating you like a human, makes the difference between going home miserable or not.
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Faerie
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« Reply #27 on: May 24, 2012, 15:30:36 PM »

My youngest at 16 comes home earlier this week, wide eyed and pale. I cocked an eye but said nothing, generally the kids will eventually come tell you what is on their minds in their own good time.  A couple hours later he casually throws himself down on the armrest of the couch in a manner only 16 year old boys can manage and hangs there like an upside down bat whilst the silence streches into eternity.  I wait.

"So Ma." - a statement.

*eyebrow* - "yar?"

"I think I might have killed my best friend today."

*two eyebrows* "whaaaat???"

"I took the Senokot out of the Meds cupboard and chucked the whole lot into his coke and now he's in hospital."

*I peer over my book* "ummm..." - I couldnt think of anything to say to this, I mean, what DOES one say to such an admission?

"WHY? Why did you do that?"

"Well, ma, you see, he pulled out the long hair I had on my chin (its the only hair he had on his chin) and I wanted to prank him back, and we didnt have Brooklax, so I figured I'd dose him with Senokot which is a natural product, I didnt think he'd go to hospital!!!"

Gods....  Shocked

Being a parent surely isnt for sissies, and a long discussion ensued about the nature of "pranks" and vengance and what is right and what is wrong. His buddy was let go from hospital the same night, the runs ran its course and no long-lasting damage was done. Just a little life lesson for my son about the nature of medication and what NOT to do to your best friend....

It aint for sissies.  Undecided
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brianvds
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« Reply #28 on: May 24, 2012, 18:25:53 PM »

Encountered on my early morning walk today:



That's us Afrikaners for you: we cower behind barricades with a gun in one hand and the Bible in the other. Been like this for two centuries now. :-)

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BoogieMonster
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« Reply #29 on: May 25, 2012, 09:47:38 AM »

Being a parent surely isnt for sissies, and a long discussion ensued about the nature of "pranks" and vengance and what is right and what is wrong.

Yikes. I guess this is how we learn, luckily he didn't learn the really hard way.

Reminds me though (yes I'm gonna digress as I do...) of when I was in HS and a guy brought a needle to school, all the better to prick random kids with. He thought this was funny until I started highlighting some "concerns" to him. Funny enough even bullies can be reasoned with a little bit if you point out they could unintentionally kill someone.

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