Saw the same doubles man i bought doubles from just two hours ago parked by the side of the road just outside the airport, bonnet open and looking distressed, so i pulled over to enquire as to his predicament. Seems the old car that was on its last legs died and he needed to get home, and nope, there was no one he could call. So, I decided to give him a drop. He said its right by Valsayn and that was on my way, so, i helped him put the same doubles box i had eaten from earlier into the tray of my van and we headed off. We got to talking a little bit, him saying how much he enjoys his job at the airport, how many nice people he gets to meet on a daily basis, how many friends for a day he makes. I smiled thinking this poor old man selling doubles from before sunrise, how early in the morning he must get up to do this and here he was making light of his whole situation. I reminded myself to remember to never judge. After the Curepe traffic lights he asked me to turn left into Valsayn, and while it did not strike me as odd then why i should be driving into Valsayn with the distressed doubles man, two turns later he tells me to slow down, pulls out a remote control from his shirt-jack pocket and clicks it to open the most massive pair of white gates i have ever seen and asked me to drive in. Not sure what this was about, the adventure now had me off balanced in a way the writer in me loves so much, and he made me turn into a four car garage space that now housed a big blue seven series BMW and a Range Rover. I pulled in and parked and sat as he got out, unsure of the situation but paying close attention, especially to the Range Rover which looked as if it just drove right out of a showroom. What was this situation? Is this the doubles man family? He walked over to my side of the van and asked me if i wanted something to drink, walked forward with his keys and opened a door which i assumed led to the house while two old guys in gardening boots came to retrieve the doubles box and stuff from the tray of my van in the unspoken manner that said they were accustomed. Clearly there was a story here, and my host, the former doubles man with an amused smile at my stupefied expression handed me a tall glass and gestured for me to sit on one of the bar stools in what had to be the biggest most elaborate kitchen i have ever been in in my life. The tale he told, while he was telling it captivated and held me spellbound. He used to be a captain of industry, now he lived off the proceeds of his extensive real estate holdings. His three children, two doctors and an architect all lived on different continents, his wife of fifty years now dead, he was left alone to tinker around the house and, lonely as arse (his word) one night he went out for something to eat and ended up stopping in Curepe for a doubles where he watched the camaraderie of the doubles sellers and the regular customers and realised that he wanted that. So long story short, he bought an old car, hired a cook to come make his doubles early in the morning, and at four oclock every day for the past four years he has been a doubles vendor. He said he has made some very good friends, friend who, if they knew his double life would be shocked. Understatement much? He said he knew me from my writings and the radio, had some advice for me which he shared liberally. After spending the better part of two hours chatting i got up to leave to return to the world. He thanked me profusely for my kindness and asked me that, if i did tell his story, that i would keep his secret. We exchanged numbers and promised to keep in touch. Driving out of that yard past those two enormous gates i had to remind myself again to remember to never judge.
Posted on: Mon, 01 Sep 2014 19:05:25 +0000
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