Ding dong.

by Wayne Naidoo

Part 1.

Rod aka Dot was our Finance Director, one of my best mates and was warmly held in superior regard by everyone who knew him. He was charming, authentic, kind, diligent, honourable and had the biggest heart.  He was also shorter than most garden gnomes, square like a brick of lard and sprinkled with multi sized freckles that populated his midget body. He was our local version of Gimli the dwarf from Lord of the Rings.  A real beaut of a man.

In the earlier days I remember Dot as this quiet bean counter, who was always holed up in his little hobbit den doing his accounting thing.  One never heard from him other than when he was trying to peddle his pyramid scheme products to disinterested parties. He was what one would call a determined and yet a very reserved man. An introvert but very hairy. Not on his head though. A thoughtful decent forty plus year old kinda guy. Incredibly professional.  You get the picture.

We were in Advertising where winning and losing business was like a daily game of playing snakes and ladders.  This time the snake bit us properly in the ass – we had learnt that we had lost our largest client.  The news was upsetting, like when you have to give your dentures to your husband because he’s going to a work function and will be eating a T-bone steak at the Spur that day.

Half-heartedly we planned a farewell to thank our “amazing” client for the partnership to date. This included an overnight trip to Riebeek Kasteel where we would Black tie it out and sing each other’s praises on how amazing the journey had been, etc, wada wada, Japanese, hieroglyphics, namaste, etc, etc.

The team started prepping, Steven Spielberg speeches were penned and the two day extravaganza programme was now in play.  This break up had to be perfect and we needed to win and show our ex-lover that you don’t know what you’ve got until you’ve lost it. Biatch. *snaps fingers

 We were 35 pax strong on the bus including both client and agency peeps. The trip started like the one when you get onto the Cobra at Ratanga Junction. Calm but with a tad of nervous anticipation.  Then the cake was served which was such a lovey treat for 08h30 in the morning and Dot was so on top of the planning that he also brought something to wash it down with.  Jose Cuervo tequila.

We were now nearly at the apex of the Cobra but no one was paying any attention.  Jose was flowing like Rapunzel’s locks and the “cake” had actually now given everyone the munchies including Glynnis our aging tea lady who had unknowingly now consumed about fifty percent of Sonja’s proudly South African Home Grown Tert.

It was at that precise moment that all the wrong planets aligned and we were now heading for territories unknown.  Glynnis jumped out of the bus at the next pit stop and ran like a possessed lunatic, screaming “THEY WANNA KEEEEEEL ME”.  It didn’t help that four white men, Lwandle and an Indian were chasing after her, down a quaint road in this very reserved dorpie of Ceres with glowing shot glasses straddling our necks.  It was only 11h30 and we were already in the twilight zone. Properly stoned.

Once the cops left, and after we admitted Glynnis to hospital, we were back on the bus trying to recalibrate ourselves and headed for our formal event at the Royal Hotel.  Dot then self-appointed himself  as the elder in charge as he felt that the rest of us kippies were clearly not qualified to keep things on track.

12 hours of absolute mayhem had now passed.  The main event was only 30 minutes away and we were trying to resuscitate everyone by any means possible.  More Jose presented itself and loads of further wild herbs were inhaled, and then just like when Will Smith in Men in Black clicks that thingamagigie, everyone miraculously rose back to life and thankfully they’d all forgotten what had happened hours earlier. Second wind.  Amazeballs.

Speeches were now being dished out with compliments from both sides and it was as entertaining as watching Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan blowing kisses to each other in When Harry Met Sally. Adorable.  We owned it and were back on top and there was no way we were going to allow the client to get the better of us again.  Even though we were defeated in the earlier rounds, this horse still had some kick in it.

The music started and Dot like under a spell, resurrected himself to life and started dancing like a one legged zombie to the sounds of Thriller, whilst singing, “It’s close to midnight, something evil’s lurking from the dark…”.  This was just the beginning and over a five hour period, he had unearthed every Golden Oldie to which he transformed himself accordingly.  He had moves like Jagger, John Travalto, Freddie Mercury, Tom Jones and even Brenda Fassie.  He was in the zone and sweating like a sprinkler.  His top was so tightly drenched against his fur-ball chest, that he could have won the Village’s wet T-shirt competition.

He was now on the Royal Bar’s counter swirling around the bar pole like a Siamese cat singing Frank Sinatra’s, I did it my way, to the appreciative crowd.  It was then that Dot spotted a bell mounted above the header panel of the bar.  He was still the main attraction even though everyone now finally had the opportunity to dance and was now doing the Bart to the Gypsie Kings.  Dot straddled closer to the bell and waited for the perfect moment to strike as Bamboleo was coming to an end.

His timing seemed rehearsed and fell into place like Elton John’s taupe.  He looked at the bell with smug intent as this was his defining moment.  He had it all worked out and pictured it swaying and ding-donging to the final crescendo of the song. The bell never saw it coming as he applied an unforgettable Zinedine Zidane headbutt to it, which let out a clang so loud that it caused the neighbourhood dogs to start howling.  It was like watching Rocky 3 in slow motion as Dot hit the deck with a thunderous bang as if Apollo Creed had double jab-cross-left uppercut him.  He was KO’d.

Sadly, the Bell never moved a millimetre.  It was solidly mounted to the wall.

Ex-Client:  1

Agency:    -6

Life lesson #5 – Legends are not born. They are made.

Part 2.

Dot and I had worked together for 15 years.  For most of it we were like Jon Baker and Frank Poncherello from Chips.  Even though Dot was a decade and a half older than me, we still connected at just about every level.  The common denominator: Idiocy.

We had met at our local pub, three days before the eventful day.  I hadn’t seen Dot in about 5 months, which was an unusually long stint of absence, but this was a result of me having changed jobs and now commissioned to kiss new ass, somewhere in distant East Africa.   He looked magnificent.  Neat, lean, kitted out in the latest polo gear, colour co-ordinated from watch, to shoe, to belt buckle, and even his furry nose and ear follicles had somehow mysteriously disappeared.  He was still a dwarf and freckled though.  That’s the only way I recognised him.

We were tight like thieves and knew just about everything about each other.  We could finish off each other’s sentences, regardless of the language being spoken and we had the natural born skills to create a party, with as little as mustard seeds and lion matches.  For more than ten years, Dot and I commuted from Cape Town to Johannesburg weekly, and in-between it all, we found ourselves in some exotic places too – The VIP lounge at Old Trafford, Hogs and Heifers in Manhattan, The Bulldog in Amsterdam and our favourite – Suite 11 at the Parkwood Guest House where we would watch the Champions League, over all the Johnny Walker Black’s and Nando’s perinaise wedges with hot chicken livers, that we could get our grubby hands on.

He was always in my corner and had my back like Mickey in Rocky Balboa.  We were the perfect team – I was the Hunter and he was the Farmer.  I was commissioned with bringing in the business and he was to ensure that our house was in order.  Our bond was unbreakable and trust is what kept it real. We never spoke about it, but we knew we could never put a price on that.

This was sadly challenged when Dot found himself caught in the middle of having to choose sides.  For reasons that only Homer Simpson could probably explain, I was being targeted as CEO, and had crosshairs all over me like Rambo.  Unbeknown to me, things were being clandestinely orchestrated, so as to get rid of me.  Apparently it was all being done with the companies interests at heart and the only corrective measure was for me to be culled.  Mmm.  Whatever Felicia.

Dot would have nothing of it, and stood up for me, being aware that he could end up being caught in the cross fires.  Now in his mid-Fifties, a most likely non-employable White South African male, with Dane and Jamie still in Private School and with a healthy company retirement pay-out in near sight, he still went ahead in supporting me, knowing full well that if things went pear-shaped, that he would be properly screwed.  Regardless though, he stood firm and gave me all the emotional and unconditional support that I so desperately needed, over what was the most challenging bout in my entire 25 year career.  This unprovoked, backstabbing, emotionally draining, roller-coaster saga dragged on over many months, but in the end it all blew over and I was still at the helm.  In fact, I knew then, that I was never the one at the helm.  Dot always was.

Three days later, I was still silently chuckling about the rubbish that we were reminiscing about at Forries, when my phone rang.  It was from Nisreen, Dot and my ex assistant, who I hadn’t spoken to in years.  She was completely shattered and devastatingly broke the news to me that Dot had just died from a sudden heart attack after a board meeting.  Numb.  White inner pain branched across my body like I had been hit by bolts of lightning.  A part of me died that day.  A very big part.

This time Dot got it right, and was finally able to ring that damn bell, in all its glory.  This time, for the very last time.

Rip my dear buddy.  You were not just legendary. You were much more than that.  You were an absolute Champ.

World:  7.7 Billion

Dot:      1 of a kind

Life lesson #5.1 – Mentorship and support is critical to one’s growth. Find a legend that’s right for you and then keep them forever in your corner.