A colleague asked me to look after a journo he knows while said journo was out in SA covering the world cup. I’m a hospitable gal. So when the guy mentioned he’d be in Cape Town for a while, I offered him my spare room.
Big mistake. Huge!*
I dutifully picked him up from the airport, in the middle of my work day. Spent an hour with him getting him settled and then dropping him off in town.
Day one: he rocks home at 5.30am, skanky chick in tow. And they proceed to shag in my spare bed. I did not know this until the next night, when he sheepishly apologised, thinking I’d heard it all. Naïve, stupid, idiotic me thought the squeaky bed was a drunk boy trying to get comfortable. Not impressed.
As part of the confession, he mentions she might have stolen R2k cash from his pockets and his cell phone.
And he left the front door open. In South Africa. Crime capital of the world.
Day two: I pick him up for tea at one of the poshest hotels in Cape Town. Something he’s requested to do. He’s 20minutes late. He’s had 3 glasses of wine to make up for the hangover. He follows with 2 G&Ts for tea and 2 pints of beer for early dins. This takes us to 6.30pm, where I leave him to pursue soccer. He rocks home at 12.30. Alone. All good. Until I wake him to take him into town, as per his request, to see the museums. He proceeds to spend the first 20 minutes of his day vomiting. While I’m trying to eat breakfast. And then gets into my car without brushing his teeth.
Day 3: I’m losing patience, but I’ve organised him a wine tour. Clearly the man hasn’t bought enough clothes, for when I wake him for that, he smells like a latrine. Seriously. Three days of hard boozing, smoking, shagging and vomiting. In pretty much the same clothes.
I take him to the airport. Relieved.
And then, today, I discover his skanky ho has more than likely helped herself to my brand-new, bought in duty free with hard earned bonus, not yet insured camera.
Seething with rage.
Journo and colleague will pay. As for the ho. I hope her bits are infested with the fleas of a thousand bergie dogs, and her arms are too short to scratch. Bitch.
I am clearly a complete and utter eejit. That is the very, VERY last time I play host to someone I don’t know.
*Julia said it best.