I work in a grocery store that accepts social relief vouchers provided by our government to those in need. I don’t see them often, however, and know almost nothing about them. A man enters in some kind of black religious clothing, small cap included. He is black, and I assume to be native to Africa, but as soon as he starts talking, I can tell he is from America. For the record, he is much older than me, and larger. I’m a small white girl in my early twenties.

Me: Hello, sir, how are you today?

Man: *Looking at two products* Huh? Fine. Fine. Do you accept food stamps?

Me: *Confused* Do you mean government vouchers? Yes, we do.

Man: *He holds up two small packages of water enhancer tablets. They are packed with electrolytes and aren’t exactly for flavour* Are these tablets? Like in tablet form? I don’t want no more powders.

Me: *I look and confirm they are* Yes sir, they are.

Man: How much are they?

Me: (Price) rand each, sir. Would you like them?

*He nods, so I scan both of them.*

Me: Your total is (price) rand, sir.

Man: Do you take only cash, or can you also use food stamps?

Me: We accept physical notes, cards, and government vouchers, sir.

Man: *Sternly* And food stamps?

Me: We accept government vouchers as long as they’re from South Africa, sir. These are not eligible for them, however.

Man: Yeah, I know. I was just checking.

*He inserts his card into the chip reader, but in the wrong direction and upside down.*

Me: Could you please insert your card in the other direction and flip it over?

Man: *Loudly* I know what I’m doing! I’m putting the silver side in like I should!

Me: Sir, the gold chip just there needs to go in face side up.

Man: *Does what I say, scoffing* Whatever. *It works* Hey, what do you know? The white girl knew something I, a grown man, didn’t! What are the odds?

Me: I’ve been working here a while, sir. I know how they work. Would you like these in a bag?

Man: *Mutters something, but I couldn’t hear. He keeps taking his card out too early. Three times, to be exact. On the second try, he says* This isn’t working! Why isn’t it working? I did just as you said!

Me: Sir, you have to leave it in until the very end. It will beep.

*He does it again, but he pauses when it asks for an identification number*

Man: Why hasn’t it gone through?

Me: Have you completed the prompts? *I turn the reader to see if it is malfunctioning*

Man: *Jerks it back and types in his number* Don’t touch when I know what I am doing!

*It finally goes through.*

Man: *To the male customer behind him* It’s not me, it’s her and these machines! It’s their machines. They never work. Heh, computers. I have the best computer here *points to his head* in my head. Did you know that? No, you Africans wouldn’t know about that! Not even you white ones!

*He finally leaves, taking his bag-less items with him*

Me: *After greeting the same male customer* Do you know what that was about?

Customer: *Chuckling* I don’t know, but I guess that suits us!

My father picks me up outside school and drives me to his optician to pick up his first ever prescription glasses. He is a consulting doctor to several hospitals and drives thousands of kilometers every week. He comes back with his new glasses, gets into the car, and puts them on, and we pull into traffic.

Dad: “Oh, wow, look at that! That’s Table Mountain.”

Me: “Yes, Dad, it’s a 1000-meter-high, flat-topped chunk of ancient granite that you’ve lived next to for nearly fifty years.”

Dad: “Hmm… I can’t remember the last time it was so… vivid. Oh, look, that’s [Local Bakery where he used to buy bread].”

Me: “Okay, now you’re starting to worry me.”

Dad: “Wow, I’ve just realized how big you’re getting. Is that stubble on your chin? I… Oh, s***!”

And that’s when he drove into the back of the car in front of us because he was too busy looking at things he hadn’t been able to see in years to look where he was going.

I stop at my favorite Thai take-away for supper. There is a sign on the door: “Cash Only. Sorry, our card machine is faulty.” The same sign is repeated inside the restaurant: in front of the till and on the wall behind the cashier. Unusually, the manager is standing next to the cashier and both look a little tense.

Me: Hello.

Cashier: Sorry sir, we can only accept cash, our card machine is broken.

Me: I know, I saw the signs.

Both the manager and the cashier stare at me in surprise.

Manager: You’re the first person to notice them!

Cashier: Nobody reads them!

I chuckle.

Me: This sounds like a story from NotAlwaysRight.

Manager: What’s that?

I explain about this site and give her the URL. While I place my order she pulls out her phone.

Later on when my order is called I see the manager is still reading her phone and the cashier too. Both are now smiling.

Cashier: Thank you. Those stories are funny.

Manager: Thank you. You made my day.

(It is the first of the month. My mom, dad and I are all at the supermarket picking up groceries for the week. Once we have all we need we go to stand in a queue. It should be noted that here in South Africa people receive their sassa payouts on the 1st and many choose to withdraw their money at the store. There were 2 tills allocated to those wanting sassa.)

Random man: *to security officer* Can I get my sassa in this queue?! *refer to the queue my mom, me and several other regular shoppers having been standing in for about an hour*

Security officer: Yes sir.

Random man: Then why are these people here?!

(Please note that there was no sign above this till saying it was for sassa only)

Security officer: *says nothing and walks away to go where she is needed*

Random man: *to other sassa people behind him* these people with their groceries should get out the d*** queue and go stand another one! This is for sassa not that shit!

Other sassa people: *agreeing with him*

(At this point it is me and my mom, 2 ladies in front of us and 1 lady in front of them)

1st lady: *tries to withdraw from sassa card which causes a problem since the register hasn’t been properly set up to use the cards)

After 10 minutes the card finally worked and the cashier was able to starting ringing up the ladies in front of us.

Old lady storms from back of queue: *storms up to cashier* Why are you not making these people move?! They can’t be here! Send them to another queue! They are causing this to take too long!

Cashier: No, they were here first. They are not causing a delay and will be done quickly since they are not on sassa and paying cash.

Old lady: *to security officer* Make these people get out of line! This is sassa only and they have groceries! Do you speak English or Afrikaans! I don’t speak your damn click click language! (The officer was a black woman with no noticeable accent meaning she was probably raised speaking English)

Security: They will be checked out here because they have queued. It is not their fault that there is no sign here. It was taking down because the card reader is not working correctly and therefore causing a delay.

Old lady: *storms back to place in line*

(Another note: my mom and I were standing alone in the queue as my dad went to wait in the car as he has a bad back. It should also be said that while my mom is white, my dad is black and I have coloured skin. I look really well tanned but my hair and lips usually tell people I am mixed race. The two ladies in front of us have been rung up and have paid and is now mine and my moms turn)

Me: *unloading cart while my mom stands next to the till by the scanner*

Random man: Those damn white people always feel so entitled to everything! We should burn them all! *to my mom* Hey B**** why don’t you learn to f****** listen and hear that they said this is for sassa only huh?!

My mom: I got into this queue because I was told it was cash only. Since I am paying cash, and have queued here for an hour and a half I will continue to check out here.

Random man: You need to move to another queue, you white w****! Your daughters probably a whore to since you let her get a f****** tan!

Me: *frantically texting my dad to come back to us because the man is starting to move towards my mom in a threatening way*

(My mom is only 5ft tall and while I am 5ft10 and very strong I can’t protect my mom because I recently broke my arm and it’s in a cast)

Mom: I will not move, it won’t even take me 2 minutes to check out. Now leave me alone or else.

Random man: Or else what b****, you and your w**** daughter gonna hurt me?! Ha! White b***** are weak!

(With the best timing my dad shows up and is now standing behind the man. My dad is 6ft8 and built like a fridge.)

My dad: Or else i’ll show you how fast I can turn you into a pretzel!

Random man: *turns around, sees my dad and pales* …..

My dad: That’s what I thought.

(We were able to check out peacefully after that and like my mom had said, it took less than 2 minutes. The man and every other sassa person in the queue shut up after my dad showed up. I felt the need to share this story because honestly it pissed me off that this man was so horrible to us because my mom and I have lighter skin. This is sadly not this first time my mom and I have been treated like this when my dad wasn’t around and it won’t be the last either as it happens nearly every week when my mom and I shop. This is why my mom and many or our friends (many of whom are of colour) say that South Africa is in apartheid again, but this time it’s the whites suffering.)

I was skippering a large charter boat off the west coast of South Africa in the 1990s. We took a group of passengers up the coast and stopped off at an island overnight, where we fed them freshly-caught crayfish, BBQ, and all sorts of rich food. The party went on well into the night and many bottles of booze were consumed against the advice of me and my crew.

In the morning, the wind had changed direction and was picking up strongly. The sailing got rougher and rougher, and as captain, I decided to ask the passengers to stay below deck.

Suddenly, one of the passengers ran on to the deck to be ill and, understandably, given how ill he was feeling, had a little breakdown and started screaming abuse and demanding to be taken to shore. I explained that, as we were more than 30 miles from the nearest harbour, nothing could be done.

That’s when he crossed over to the dark side and threatened to kill us before trying to jump overboard to swim for shore. I caught him before he was over the railings and managed to pin him to the deck while he was screaming, trying to bite and punch me, and generally behaving like a crazy person. As I was holding him down, his girlfriend leapt onto my back, also screaming like a banshee, and started hitting me in the head with a shoe.

That’s when I decided I’d had enough and released my inner Captain Bligh, muscling both of them into the aft lazarette, a small stowage area on the boat, and locking them in the tiny enclosed space for the eight hours it took me to get them to shore. Their friends tried to protest and were informed that if they didn’t like it they were welcome to join them and so we sailed in solemn, bitter silence until we hit the wharf.

I released the wayward couple there and watched as they staggered to shore, covered in vomit, and stalked down the pier without a backward glance, never to be seen again.

This story is part of the South Africa Roundup!

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