So the week before last I was quite busy and I had to pay a little visity visit visit to Investec in Cape Town. Yeah the place where guys pack it in at 1pm to go to Beluga for lunch in their Bentleys and Rolls. So anyway, the situation was that I had to deliver three magnums of Moet & Chandon to Investec. God knows why, but it was expensive stuff(This is a true story)

So I roll in thinking that due to my stature and well cultivated name I would breeze past security and walk into the twilight zone, deliver the booze, lunge for Jane in accounts, get a handski in the mail room and then leave.

Well no!

I walked in the front doors to be met by the reception lady, who asked where I was from and who I was coming to visit. So I give her all the necessary details, and she tells me to get into the lift and go to the 4th floor or something. So I do this, and get to another floor where I see another reception desk, manned by quite a stunner. She was very domineering though and I didn’t even attempt to try and hook her, because that would be asking for my main chap to be chopped off and fed to the pigeons. So I see her, a security guard and a set of turnstiles which can only be accessed with this guys security card.

I stroll up to the desk of this chick in her power suit and tell her what I’m here for, which is to try and find a sexy girlfriend. No that’s a lie, but it would be cool. Winter is getting lonely! I let her know that I was the safeguarder of the Moet and that I was here to deliver it. She asks for my name and cellphone number, which I thought was very forward of her! I mean honestly…we hadn’t even spoken and I had not shown her mine, and she had not shown me hers. I was liking it, the whole dominatrix thing. Like a chick picking you up in a bar.

But this never happens because chicks who do that are a little rough, probably ride Harleys and chain smoke Texan plain. And they will chop your kok off and sacrifice it to the diesel dykes.

So then I think “Cool it’s over, she should let me through” She then says to me “Look into the camera”

By this stage I was highly confused and I think I was wearing my “I’m a brick and have an IQ of 12″ face. I did not have a clue why she was asking me to look into the camera, so I looked at it with the dumbest face possible. She could have at least said “Pose for the camera, you sexy man beast you” and at least then I could have angled my head a bit to show my chiseled cheek bones.

But no, I stood there, sweating from the drive, looking at the camera as though I were being sentenced to prison for shagging a goat, and I see her press a button ad BOOM…photo taken! This might sound really stupid, but I didn’t register at first that she was going to actually take a photo. I didn’t even register when she asked me to look into the camera.

Why else would she ask me to look into the camera? There is only one reason and that is to take a photo of me. But I am so stupid I didn’t realise this. Now Investec have my details on their system and my beautiful photo. It’s highly embarrassing that the worst photo ever taken of me has to be stored on Investecs database for everyone to laugh at! Funny guys…but after laugh laugh comes cry cry!

Investec is like a palace though, with gourmet food being seen on some of the desks, people sitting takka takka takka-ing on their keyboards, making millions, thinking about the Camps Bay party in the evening, trying to hook up with the hot girls working with them and so the story goes. I won’t lie there were a few people working there that I would definitely tap. Unfortunately my look on the day was not dapper, it was rather of me wearing worn cargo pants, sweating like a hooker with three magnums of Moet under my arm.

I either looked like a serial killer or a raging alchoholic.

Not the best of looks when you are trying to impress these 30 something angels in their power suits.

Sean Lloyd

Editor