I burst out laughing. Sharleen, the person at whom the above comment was directed, didn’t even twitch. Vicky, the person who had made the comment, continued on to the lift.
There are many things I love about advertising, but by far the best part is its people. They’re smart, witty and couldn’t give a fuck*.
*Case in point.
We hear it all the time. And we stop there, blocking off our minds to the possibility of comparison. But trust Google, they actually made it possible.
There was a sadness in her eyes, one that I couldn’t ignore as I left the train. I felt guilty for being white. Guilty for being privileged. In South Africa it seems that the two cannot be separated – not yet at least. I left the station only to have a black (for lack of another word) man spit at me. It seems he knew what I was thinking. Apartheid isn’t over – not yet at least.
I didn’t know where he was talking about…but instantly knew I needed to go there.
He mumbled sheepishly from behind a grizzly beard. Cigarette at hand. It wasn’t exactly the image I’d had in mind, but I was grateful nonetheless. He was to rescue me from the peril of my inconsistent Fiat Uno that had broken down outside his coffee shop.
For full effect, read with a rusta-accent. The heavily dread-locked man leant against the iron gate at Hope Street Market. His words well-suited for the street name – like an anthem of sorts.
I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by her confidence or do the BBM forehead slap face (cue moment of recognition for all the other times we miss it). I chose neither…and decided she actually was ‘quite pretty’ (cue Keira Knightley Love Actually voice). Speaking of which…even if you’re a Hugh Grant-hater, you gotta love this.