Screaming queens and the camera-wielding gunman

I have had a tough couple of weeks at work, with the madness of my being actually expected to produce high-quality innovation in the fast-food industry for our customers continued unabated. You would not have blamed me for suggesting a few quiet beers with a colleague of mine after we worked late on a Thursday some weeks ago.

I did not really care much where these drinks would be had; it was all the same to me. There would be much imbibing of the amber nectar of the gods on my part while my accomplice did the driving and I the misguiding navigation. So when he asked me for suggestions of where we would have these drinks as we pulled off Gobble Road, I piped up that Bean Bag Bohemia would be a cool hangout for a nice couple of cold ones — or maybe a couple of dozen. I was game either way because I needed the mental break.

So, like the good chauffer that he is, my mate drove us down to “Triple B”, as it is more affectionately known to the patrons of this most esteemed inter-cultural hangout. My choice of hangout was not at all as random as you may imagine. I frequent that spot and for good reasons too.

Triple B is one of the only spots in Durban where cultures, races, languages and so forth meet and where all are truly welcome for a good time on any day. It is the only place in Durban where I have felt truly free and accepted among other races and languages (and near-anorexic people). The owner of that establishment must know in his infinite wisdom that it is the colour of a person’s money (which should preferably not be ink-stained) that keeps a business running and not the melanin concentration of his or her skin — or even his sexual preference, which is more the case for Triple B.

It is a very free-spirited, happy place, usually filled with a large variety of cultures, languages and sexual preferences. OK, I’m just going to come out and say it; BBB, in my opinion, is a very, very gay bar — although it isn’t, not really. There may not be signs on the doors that will tell seasoned homosexuals that they have a sanctuary in that place, as I have seen before in other venues after having my attention drawn to them when I had unwittingly gone in for a beer only to find that there were only cocktail mixes in the fridge.

No, BBB is not like that at all, but it is a place where everyone is free to be whoever they truly are without fear of judgement. Having come from a lineage of people who have been kept out of drinking holes in their country by such signs as “Slegs blankes”, I am quite sympathetic to the cause of other socially marginalised groups such as homosexuals. This, therefore, is why I support such a maverick establishment that allows all its patrons equal freedoms and even encourages them. BBB is also a very fine restaurant with a vast menu of tapas and all manner of designer food that is always beautifully prepared and artistically presented. It is also a gallery for emerging artists to showcase their work to the patronage. All in all, in a word, BBB is just fabulous!

So, let me get back to the reason why I’m talking about that particular restaurant. My companion and I took up seats at the bar to be closer to the beer and the two lovely young ladies also seated at the bar. I could see myself making really beautiful coloureds with one of them, so I would wait for the opportune time to introduce myself, maybe buy them a drink if it all went well — but alas, it wasn’t to be.

After a few minutes of mindless banter with the said ladies and having offered them the opportunity to carry my infinitely superior seed, their companions arrived — two scary-looking okes. I did not want to find out whether they would be offended at our making a move on their ladies, therefore we bid a hasty retreat out the bar doors, defeated and dejected but vowing to return to fight another day and promising ourselves to pick our fights better next time.

But it would turn out that this was the smartest move we had made in a while, for a few hours after our rather unceremonious departure from the bar, a camera-wielding madman fired approximately eight shots in the air in the upstairs restaurant as he assaulted the revellers who had booked out that section of the house for the 40th birthday party of a friend.

I forgot to mention that while we were at the bar trying to get our way in with the lovely things seated there, the revellers had arrived for the party — most of them men and all of them in drag. Yup, absolutely all of them in drag and loving it. These people weren’t just wearing these items. They were not rented. They owned them, thank you very much, darling! (Or so I believe — I mean, I’m not experienced in these types of fashion choices.)

I must be quite frank and state that the party that was happening upstairs put the whole Gay Pride parade to shame, really. The joyful crowd that made their way upstairs contained the highest number of girly men that I had ever seen in one place; it was quite extraordinary to witness, to say the least. I was astounded by their open displays and celebrations of who they really are. It takes a brave man to come and shout to the world: “Hey, I’m gay, live with or eat go eat hay!” These fellows did exactly that, and the amazing thing is that it was quite normal and accepted by all the patrons.

When I first heard of the unfortunate events that took place on the fateful night of that 40th birthday party, I laughed. And then I asked if anyone was injured and was told no, not seriously anyway, so I proceeded to break down laughing completely. Please don’t judge me. You see, the perpetrator of this most heinous crime was not known to me, nor was his motives for his appalling behaviour against our fairer brothers.

You see, in my head the perpetrator of this crime was a disgruntled lover of one or more of the patrons of the party, or even the host of the party. It was funnier when I thought of it being a jealous ex of the host; it was more dramatic to me as I rolled around on the floor of our lab at work in a fit of uncontrollable giggling. There is just something absurd about a gay man wielding a gun in the air telling the rest of the joyous crowd, in his girliest voice, of course, that he was there for revenge and would not take any bitchy behaviour from anyone. How I wished I had been a fly on that wall if that was how the events unfolded. I imagined him saying:

Disgruntled Lover: [One hand on the hip, the other holding a gun that is being waved around at chest height, but close to his body] Shaun … Shaun! Is this the bitch you left me for? Huh? Is this it? After all the lube we’ve been through, you are going to leave me for this tramp?!

Shaun, the Dumper: [With hands out in front of him in a submissive pose and waving them around in a naturally feminine manner] Gary, calm down, pleeease! You are just acting sooo crazy right now, you are sooo irrational. Just put that gun down and come give daddy a biiig hug.

DL: [Rearranges his boob tube and snaps his fingers as he speaks] No, Shaun, nooo! Nobody, I say, nobody leaves me! Ah, aahh, oh … No! I will shoot you and your little skanky ho if you move even an inch of that sexy muscle! Nobody does me like that, baby, nooooobody!

This went on in my head for about 30 minutes and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I pictured the other revellers quivering along the walls, screaming at every shot in their highest-pitched voices. I pictured prayers to the Lord for salvation by these colourfully drag-clad men. I would imagine that praying in drag would be kind of tricky — I mean, how do you explain to God that when you are supposed to go to church in formal clothing for due respect, in your highest moment of need you are dressed like a lady of the night?

The above was my honest reaction and I am ashamed to admit that I found other people’s misfortune so fascinatingly humorous. I knew I was reacting inappropriately, but I just couldn’t hold myself back. That was my honest reaction and, as always, I am sharing it honestly.

The real story is that the gun-swinging assailant was a madman who lives in the area of Triple B and has been bothering the patronage for more than a decade. Apparently his modus operandi involves coming into the chilled establishment a few times a month or whatever and making videos of whatever is happening at the place. He probably has a few videos of the Sumo behaving badly with the ladies, which may or may not have happened, therefore I am glad he is now behind bars awaiting trial, I think.

Apparently he has been campaigning to get the bars and other establishments in the area to close down because, in his humble opinion, they are too noisy and disturb his peace. So he took to taking video footage of patrons in the hope that this unsolicited home video making would put people off coming to the establishment. It is alleged that he snapped on this particular day and brought a loaded gun inside the usually well-guarded bar, attacked the patrons and fired several random shots . And as he walked out, one patron claims that he hit him over the head with the pistol and was making a video of all of this as he unfolded the beating on the poor unsuspecting man.

It is probably a very good thing that the Sumo had made a hasty retreat from the spot by that time because the Sumo, having grown up on the harsh streets of Kwa-Mashu, has never taken kindly to being knocked over the head with a loaded pistol. The whole situation would have made the Sumo very displeased and he would have acted in a manner that might have been undesirable to this would-be attacker. It would have been definitely been a tougher task for the mad video villain to take any more footage of the Sumo with broken arms. I don’t think he would have been able to get the cinematographically perfect angles just right as his arms dangled limply by his sides.

Alas, the Sumo had left already and missed a chance to save the day. “Super Sumo” would surely have been a nice upgrade from “The Sumo”, and I would’ve enjoyed my new-found status. Superheroes get all the girls and my mission of making beautiful coloureds together would have been a much simpler one with hero credentials to aid my noble endeavour of forming a small, overweight clan of beautiful coloureds.

I would imagine that the Sumo — being the knight who rode in to save the rather distastefully dressed damsels in distress — would have had to bag one of the said drag-clad damsels as is customary in all fairy tales. You can imagine how this could have been a very, how shall I put, sticky situation for the lady-loving Sumo. As we all know the knight in shining armour always gets the girl, therefore to keep to tradition, the Sumo would have had to suck it in and take one of the gentle ladies who would have offered themselves to the hero as currency for his bravery.

The Sumo would have had to decline the offer politely, bow out and ride slowly into the sunrise on his dark steed …

Maybe I doesn’t want to be a hero, because the politics of the whole thing are just too much. Maybe if I am unfortunate enough to be in such a dangerous situation I will also just stand against a wall and scream like a frightened little girl like everybody else and try my damndest to stay inconspicuous against a wave of drag.

I rest
The Sumo