It's like having a mobile instruction manual for ‘How Not to Be a Complete Buffoon While At The Station’ narrated with the unwavering conviction of a seasoned tour guide who's slightly concerned about her only charge. So my wife had given herself a special role to advise me on what not to eat, which people looked suspicious, the meat pie expiry dates and where you are likely to get conned. Wives have an in-built mechanism to know these things. It doesn’t matter whether you have been to the bus rank more than she has. And when are you are with her - the domestic advisor - people look at you with a mixture of pity and amusement, like you’re a particularly challenging student on a very public field trip. No, sorry, that was a cheap shot, and I promise I will not make any more wife jokes. Until I think of another one! As we emerged from the taxi, we were greeted by a chorus of voices shouting the traditional bus rank welcome: ``Hello! Cool Time!' , ‘Hello Biltong’, ‘Hello! Hot Pies’. These items are sold by salespersons who apparently have been drinking the caffeinated Reboost nonstop since 2010.
Reebost is the official beverage at the Bus Rank. It has seemingly topped Cool Time in the popularity stakes mainly because after consuming it you have an energy tank that will last you the whole day hustling people to get to the bus of their choice for a P10 bill. At the bus rank you've got to master the art of weaving through a human tapestry of hurried commuters and determined vendors. Making eye contact with a tout feels like entering a high-stakes negotiation for passage to a far-off land. The bus rank is probably the only place where the glorious, pungent bouquet of exhaust fumes mingles with the tantalizing aroma of roadside snacks and results in a truly unique sensory experience. The station goodies include roasted meat, biltong, ice pop, fries, peanuts, fruit and a whole host of other delectable that push your crave-metre right up to max. But if you are with the wife it is a whole different ball game and the crave-metre is of no use. It can never be a good idea to course through that place with a wife in tow. My liberties to indulge in greasy and delicious goodies that pushes one to the precipice of health were seriously curtailed. According to her, my digestive system is a delicate ecosystem that will be thrown into utter chaos by anything sold from a cart with wheels. The constant nostril attack was unbearable though. But deep down, amidst the gentle ribbing and the urge to simulate deafness, there's a comforting undercurrent.
