Cape Town Stories 18

I was sitting at an FNB bank waiting in line for the customer service with another pregnant lady next to me and the assistant ( a man who looks rather banky, very clean cut from the front but has a little rat tail at the back ) seems to really love his job because he tells customers where to sit and which number to pull with so much joy that it makes you feel guilty for not wanting to be there. After a while of us waiting and the pregnant lady complaining to him that we have been sitting there for over 30 minutes he – and I am not joking nor lying – offers her a foot massage! She laughs „Oooh, I would be so blessed“. He walks away only to return some seconds later with a bottle of yellow-ish massage oil and waves it in front of her face, while he drags a chair behind him for her to rest her feet on. Remember, we are at the bank!
Pregnant lady laughs: „No shame, man, I was joking, my feet are very dirty“ Him: „are you sure?“ Pregnant lady: „very very dirty“. Him: „Okay, I was also scared your husband was gonna come and moer me while I massage your feet“. I almost lost it. I am so happy I have blocked all my social media on my phone so that I can experience all the absurdities that Cape Town throws at me daily.

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