Attention, people of the greater Parktown North/Parkhurst/Rosebank metropolitan area: I am just a white dude. Walking. Just a white dude walking. No need to stare. Thanks.
Yes, I have a car. I could drop Marnie off in Mayfair and have the Corsa for the day if I so choose. Apart from the fact that we need a really good, hard rain to wash the pollen out of the air, I really enjoy walking around. It’s the best way to see a place, after all. Plus, my pictures would come out all blurry driving past at 60 k/hr (about 37 mph—I still can’t think in metric).
The annual crime statistics came out last week, and our police precinct was dead last in every major crime category in Guateng province. So, given that I’m a lone guy and not a lone girl, and that I’m walking around at 11 in the morning and not 11 at night, I’m not particularly worried about being mugged. Besides, I tend to leave my “bling” at home when I’ve gone walkabout.
I’m admittedly more self-conscious about this having just returned from pedestrian friendly Cape Town, where seniors and school kids roam the streets with impunity. Oddly, the staring is not race biased, as I get as many puzzled looks from white rugby moms driving through the neighborhood as I do black domestic workers passing through. It used to be I’d just shoe gaze until the awkward moment passed. Now I stare back, burning a hole into their skulls until their guilt instinct kicks in and they finally look away.
I seem to have less trouble over in Rosebank, where the mall and numerous shops necessitate more people walking around on the streets. To the people who have stopped me to ask for directions: thanks for making me feel like a local, as well as a normal human being.
This is a bit of a touchy subject for me, given that I’ve had trouble walking around back home in posh Bexley as well. Jogging around the neighborhood, or just walking a couple blocks down to the pharmacy, I often get weird looks from people thinking I’m casing their mansion, or moronic school kids yelling at me and throwing trash out their car as they drive past. We spend umpteen million dollars on gyms and bike paths to encourage exercise, but if someone wants to use their own two feet to go about their daily business, it’s seen as weird. Bi-pedalism rules, people!
Yes, I have a car. I could drop Marnie off in Mayfair and have the Corsa for the day if I so choose. Apart from the fact that we need a really good, hard rain to wash the pollen out of the air, I really enjoy walking around. It’s the best way to see a place, after all. Plus, my pictures would come out all blurry driving past at 60 k/hr (about 37 mph—I still can’t think in metric).
The annual crime statistics came out last week, and our police precinct was dead last in every major crime category in Guateng province. So, given that I’m a lone guy and not a lone girl, and that I’m walking around at 11 in the morning and not 11 at night, I’m not particularly worried about being mugged. Besides, I tend to leave my “bling” at home when I’ve gone walkabout.
I’m admittedly more self-conscious about this having just returned from pedestrian friendly Cape Town, where seniors and school kids roam the streets with impunity. Oddly, the staring is not race biased, as I get as many puzzled looks from white rugby moms driving through the neighborhood as I do black domestic workers passing through. It used to be I’d just shoe gaze until the awkward moment passed. Now I stare back, burning a hole into their skulls until their guilt instinct kicks in and they finally look away.
I seem to have less trouble over in Rosebank, where the mall and numerous shops necessitate more people walking around on the streets. To the people who have stopped me to ask for directions: thanks for making me feel like a local, as well as a normal human being.
This is a bit of a touchy subject for me, given that I’ve had trouble walking around back home in posh Bexley as well. Jogging around the neighborhood, or just walking a couple blocks down to the pharmacy, I often get weird looks from people thinking I’m casing their mansion, or moronic school kids yelling at me and throwing trash out their car as they drive past. We spend umpteen million dollars on gyms and bike paths to encourage exercise, but if someone wants to use their own two feet to go about their daily business, it’s seen as weird. Bi-pedalism rules, people!
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