At the other end; a person *unknown and the Dandy Kleva

*not known or familiar.*an unknown person or thing.

I

IN a world where it is easy to make new friends without meeting people in person, where business cards, at the brink of their extinction, are given out for their novelty’s sake to people who may never call you; In a world where the mobile phone has grown smarter from its former self wherein during its evolutionary journey to where it is today it had been used as a prop of multifarious progress, of which one of those uses was as a mirror, then quite recently evolving into a device capable of not only immortalizing its owner through a selfie situation quirky of indulgence but also to be a buffet sandwich of personal prime intel (psst, titbit – we ought to be jovial that there are undeniable signs that size-wise the device, having undergone loss of buttons, is taking a cul-de-sac to pay homage to its hefty ancestor). Now in this intricate plot of un-calculated fortunes – there lurks a dark force between people who know each other and perfect strangers, an in-between world, a world of the chippers blessed with the power to annoy all and sundry. Out of this quagmire rises persistent people whose main goal is to walk into our world and offer, without an invitation, an all out assault of stuff you don’t want.


One of the horribly unfortunate things of our time is to have your private number be given to strangers without your consent. I don’t know about you but whenever a stranger rings me directly on my cell phone and addresses me comfortably by my first name I feel absolutely naked. Such is the penetrating groping of the so called telephonic – marketers. While they can see you in high definition based on the data mining around you, you on the other hand are completely plunged into darkness. If your wits are intact during the call you might swim towards the light and decline whatever it is that’s on offer for the last time we checked you knew where the mall was!

One of the horribly unfortunate things of our time is to have your private number be given to strangers without your consent.

An aside

Gomsh-Boimsh-Gomsh, here in Mzansi a tale is spun at the dawn of the mobile phone age wherein a kleva-dandy, clad in a linen two piece suit, noticeably with a hefty square black device silently blinking a green light clipped unto his mahogany tanned belt waltzed into a fairly crowded party. After curiosity was solicited by the thing that made him walk slumped to one side, he purred to the ears of the hot mamas, lolls and dolls, here and there, almost reaching a lullulate pitch, that what he had slung on his belt was a phone. Against the backdrop of a lazily fading afternoon on a hot summer Sunday the tale spins further that as the day grew solidly matured all wondered why the thing called a phone did not ring as phones are suppose to ring as fingers , among other things, do snap: Gomsh-Boomsh-Gimsh went the sound of the sound system in teh background. With colorful food tossed down and the hooch doing its fair job the dAndy-kLeva visited the main toilet in the backyard where mostly family members sat about chatting and drinking. The party in whose honor we would never know was now in full swing. You only had to take in the swell of this party with unblinking eyes and a swig of the smell the scene to appreciate this fact. He of the highest ilk, elbowed through those jiving and those seated as he picked his way into the toilet to take a load off; but then the black thingy rang! The backyard crowd’s ears prinked in the direction of the loo; it is said; for an instant an OMG gasp was held in limbo even the Gomsh-Biimsh-Gomsh of the sound system faltered. Since he wanted to impress the onlookers who had picked pricked their ears trying to zero in on the source of the familiar classical telephone ring tone; dandY-klevA stepped out of the loo, a picture of disarray… (Having promptly asked the person at the other end to hold the line) the KlEva-DAndy stepped outside of the loo, one hand holding the phone the size almost of a brick to his ear, the other balancing his unfixed pants in place.
‘yah, mhm, ok…no problem’ he was saying. Taking the scene before him, knowing very well that the impression he had made on these people earlier on was now being driven home. Kleva dandy’s phone rang while he was speaking. It dawn on everyone that dandy-kleva wasn’t speaking to anyone at all all along when he stepped out of the toilet. Presently he quickly picked the call, small-framed-shrunk back into the toilet. All marveled. People’s lives will never be the same again, the dying silence seem to suggest. ‘I want a cell phone too’ someone icily squeaked deep within the crowd as the Gomish-Boomsh-Gomsh sound instantly drowned everything back into a lekker-krap party …the Kleva-Dandy, a man whose name defies ordering, as you might have noticed by now, had set the trend.

*

II

As I cross my eight hundred word mark in this set piece I wish to share with you that I have a deep seated aversion to anonymous calls, especially those that market certain unwanted items. As if I don’t know where the mall is, geographically speaking that is, LOL (I know I shouldn’t’ laugh at myself). In the name of convenience, telephonic marketers will try to shove this or that in your eyes, to titillate your interest. Nay – I would like to protest! LIKE I recently protested to an unknown sweet melodious voice, who as soon as they had introduced themselves to me I forgot their name, being disturbed as I was. The mere fact that they knew me by my full name chilled my spine and rattled my brain. I strongly requested, having turned whatever offer that was offered to me down, that they should tell their boss or senior or whatchucall management that it would be best that when they call people to offer them ‘supposedly life’s essentials’ of unwanted thingies, they must have a system that show their name to the people they are calling. That way, I piped further, one may have the choice to answer or ignore their calls. Now that’s what I call customer care coming full circle!

Spring
11 September

© mmutle arthur kgokong 2014
mmutleak@gmail.com

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