Delivering a sucker punch

We all know there’s a sucker born every minute. Strange thing, though, is that presently, approximately 259 people worldwide are born every minute, which makes suckers one in 259. I have no idea how many people per minute were born in 1968, but all of you born at 8.06am on 4 January of that year, are safe. I’m the sucker.

The number of times I have been conned, taken for a ride, and pranked is mind-boggling. One time, when a total stranger called and congratulated me on winning the moon, a few stars, and, most importantly, a dream vacation. The prize would be handed over at a casino resort. Needless to say, there was no vacation.

But I was crammed into a conference room with 297 other suckers, forced to sit through a 17-hour presentation on the advantages of buying time-share in some godforsaken resort. And I’m still waiting for my title deed to the moon.

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Then there was the promise of eternal wealth, transforming me from a poor dad to a rich dad. I fell for that one, too, because let’s be honest, aren’t we all at times sick and tired of being sick and tired?

I recently shared my frustration about a rented bus that could not go faster than 100km/h. Believe it or not, a week later I received a call from the rental company. According to their tracking device, I was travelling at 160km/h in an 80 zone. Dumbfounded is not the word.

I explained the speed governor, my frustration and the fact that their allegation is impossible. But the person on the other end of the phone persisted. I exploded. When I explode, it’s not pretty. It’s not like a ticker-tape parade with wonderful coloured confetti raining down in slow motion during a victory parade.

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I even volunteered to fly back down to Cape Town to prove my innocence in that same bus. Silence. Then the voice said: “Danie, it’s Chris here.” I was pranked by my new son-in-law’s father. Well played, Chris. All I can say is: I owe you one.