So, to move completely away from what my next post was supposed to be, I will tell you something about people – Something you will already know. My fantasy “next” post is proving very difficult. To put it simply, it’s too long and too crap. I will keep working and hopefully you will read it – It’s a great story
I can’t speak for the rest of the world, but I’m pretty sure there are just as many poor people everywhere else as there are in South Africa. And there are a lot here. Rich people, black, white, brown, red, blue, whatever race you are, are pretty much the same. I say pretty much because there are always exceptions. Note, though,in this comparison, there is either rich or poor. You either have money to eat, or you don’t. South Africa has a large amount of people begging for money at every place rich people will be:
- Malls – Because rich people love to spend their money by making themselves look pretty,
- Parking lots – because rich people love to drive their beautiful, expensive gas guzzlers,
- Large clubbing venues – Because rich people love to drink away hard earned money.
Rich people avoid these poor people at all costs. But let’s be honest, this is a capitalist, dog eat dog world. We all work hard for our money, some of us more than others. So it’s all understandable, right? I believe it is. Except these rich people should not be shallow, and I hate to admit it, but even I am. Me, this wonderful, caring, full-of-life-and-love person. It’s disgusting. I often try tell myself to behave differently, and sometimes I do. Depending on the mood, obviously, I will give food or money to one of the unfortunates at the robot. But sometimes I am the person I do not want to be, the person who i despise. On the way home from work this evening, I was exhausted. It had been a long, hot and very busy day. And I was on my last reserves for the day. It makes a good excuse, doesn’t it. There was the regular at the robot near my house, and he walked passed as usual, and in my mood, I ignored him. As usual. This time he said something, opposed to normally just walking passed with his sad expression. My window was open and not really hearing what he had said, I replied, “No, I’m sorry.”, and looked around my car as if to signify I had nothing. He bent down lower, looked at me, tapped his wrist, and said, “The time.”. I said ten passed six, and shamefully drove on. I was angry at myself. And I want you all to be angry at yourselves too. We are all superficial and frivolous and plain old horrible. You’ve all done it. But don’t. You can’t always be one of those people that always gives money to the blind lady that is guided down the isle on the train. But rather be someone that makes yourself feel better. And actually do something. I bet you think of this the next time you drive passed a “poor” person. Be nice, listen, give – it feels really good.