The high price of a warm bed

I have a thing about an annual salary increase. As a paid-up member of a trade union, I do believe it is my right to get an annual inflation-busting increase.

Note the term “inflation-busting”.

Yes, I expect my increase to afford me more expendable income (more money to spend on the fun things, rather than must haves) while, at the same time, I really don’t want to do more work.

I am not alone in this. Ask Cosatu.

The oldest profession, I’m told, relates to women (and men?) patrolling street corners – or something to that effect.

No, get your thoughts out of your underwear. I’m referring to beggars. Although I am no historian, I do love a good story, and history is filled with them.

As far as I can ascertain, the oldest profession is begging and it’s also usually practiced by people on street corners, hence the confusion.

Even the big old book has a few tales of “those people”.

Now, with the first little chilly bite in the air yesterday, I was confronted by the fact that those who call begging a job, will undoubtedly need their annual increase.

Fact is, one’s needs for survival do increase when the temperature decreases.

Lo and behold, yesterday morning, my friendly neighbourhood beggar did not ask me for the usual spare change, but requested R30.

While I turned a nasty shade of blue choking on my tongue, he explained that R30 is what he needs to get a bed for the night at one of the local shelters.

Note again my use of the term “one of”, as my town is riddled with shelters for the homeless.

I do not want to call the man (or woman?) a liar, but I have always been under the impression that the shelters charge R20 for a hot meal and a bed for the night.

Well, slap my backside and call me spanky, but I cannot believe that the shelters could increase their tariffs by 50%.

Preposterous. One phone call later I did find out that the shelters now charge R25.

But, apparently two loose cigarettes will now set you back R5, so that solves that riddle.

Danie Toerien.