Monday, September 26, 2011
Sky high mischief
Tending bar at the safari guesthouse, I overhear the humans debating the safety of air travel. They agree that flying is the safest form of transportation, unless there is an accident or some crackpot terrorist sneaks on board. In either of those lamentable scenarios, they liken boarding an aeroplane to a death sentence with no possibility of reprieve. Hence the best thing for passengers to do, they conclude, is intoxicate themselves with alcohol to ensure they are suitably zonked out if the worst happens.
This coping strategy seems to be a popular one, judging by a spate of alcohol-induced incidents on commercial jets. A recent one involved a comely young woman by the name of Katherine Goldberg, who drank a pint of whisky on a return flight from South Africa to London. Unfortunately, the quantity of liquor she consumed had the effect of liberating her inner hussy rather than rendering her senseless. One assumes she’ll learn from her mistake and drink two pints next time.
What happened on the flight was this: Miss Goldberg clutched the private parts of an air steward and demanded his sexual favours. Caught by surprise, the man appealed to his co-workers for assistance without responding to her request. The cabin crew then harried the disappointed woman back to her seat and informed the captain of her misconduct. She was later reported to the authorities, who promptly charged her with sexual assault.
After reading about this sorry affair, I got in touch with my old friend Smacker Ramrod, the circus vet, to acquaint him with the facts of the case. Although critical of Miss Goldberg’s behaviour, which he described as “futile” and “inopportune”, he was adamant that he wouldn’t have pressed charges if he’d been the air steward.
“A man who prosecutes a woman for groping him is a pussy,” he declared stoutly.
Smacker said that he would have grabbed Miss Goldberg by the wrists and escorted her to the galley for a private chat. After giving her a stern lecture on the etiquette of making propositions, he would have sent her back to her seat with her cheeks flushed red with shame. He added that he would have given her his business card so she could contact him if she needed further advice.
I must say I prefer Smacker’s “tough love” approach to putting the woman on trial. She seems like a good-natured girl who made a mistake because her brain was befuddled by the demon brew. How will the public interest be served by raking over the coals in front of a haughty judge and a smirking jury? Far better to deal with her issues informally with a friendly pat on the backside.
In the general scheme of things, of course, there is nothing wrong with a woman grasping a man’s todger. I am certain that the world would be a happier place if it happened more frequently. Once Katherine learns there is a time and a place for everything, those who cultivate her acquaintance will surely be touched with many blessings.
Labels: air travel, alcohol, todger-groping
Friday, January 02, 2009
Disorderly conduct
I agree to tend bar at the safari guesthouse on New Year’s Eve, on condition that I leave before all the singing, smooching and tooting begins. In spite of this sensible precaution, the evening does not pass without incident. Towards the end of my shift, a big fat man with blond hair and a blond moustache staggers toward me while rolling up the sleeve of his right arm.
“Lez arm wrezzle!” he burps.
“Sir, you are drunk!” I exclaim. “Your barbarian ancestors were no doubt in a similar condition as they charged the Roman legions which were shortly to make mincemeat of them! Withdraw to a nearby table and sit down while I make you a cup of coffee!”
Rather than mollifying, my words seem to enrage him.
“You big hairy fugger!” he snarls, lunging at me with his fists.
I stick out a paw to prevent him getting within spitting range (gorillas have long arms, as you know) and wait for help to arrive while he flounders and flaps like a giant penguin. Presently, a posse of catering staff drag him off for a sedative and an early night. The other guests seem supportive of my stand, although some suggest I was too lenient.
“You should have taken him on and smashed his knuckles on the bar!” says one man.
“Had I been a chimpanzee, Sir, I surely would have done so,” I reply. “However we gorillas are pacifists. Furthermore, there are many women at this function who would have witnessed the spectacle, which might have led to unnatural emotions. The male gorilla who shows off in front of human females is like a rooster that lays eggs.”
I should mention here that we gorillas never drink alcohol to excess. The close proximity of hard liquor at the bar does not tempt me. In my circus days, I once met a Native American gentleman after a show we gave in New Mexico. His name was Chief Jimmy Big-Nose of the Navaho.
“Are you planning to be a circus ape all your life?” he asked.
“No, Chief, I shall one day return to the Congo and go back to jungle living.”
“That is good,” he said. “We Navaho used to be hunter gatherers until the white man came and made us foolish with his whisky. I hope you gorillas know better.”
“We shall surely learn from your example, Chief,” I replied. “Although in my experience humans of all colour are white men.”
“Yes,” agreed the chief pensively. “They are now.”
It is a great tragedy that Dr Timothy Leary failed in his quest to persuade people to renounce all narcotic substances other than LSD. In my experience, humans who take hallucinogenic drugs are generally well behaved. They will happily sit in a corner and babble away quietly with stupefied expressions on their faces. If they take it in groups they might be more noisy, laughing hysterically for no apparent reason. But such behaviour is of no concern in Africa, we’re used to it from the hyenas. If you’re going to get stoned, do it in a way that doesn’t involve accosting strangers or making offensive noises.
Labels: alcohol, arm-wrestling, Navaho, Timothy Leary
