ZULULAND LETTER: Flight of The Urinator

HIS name was Leonard Vogues and he had a terrible bladder problem.

That’s about all I know about the guy who sat in the same chair as I did in maths class – he, the first two periods after break on Wednesdays, and me the two thereafter.

I often forgot to check the chair before I sat down, and I would then jump up, table flying through the air.

But it would be too late.

Those grey school trousers’ ability to absorb a large quantity of liquid, instantaneously, was on par with the best ‘But that’s not all’ Verimark super mop.

The whole class would then be in hysterics with the last muffled sniggers still to be heard 15 minutes after Mrs de Vries had threatened to kick the next sod who giggles to death – she was a Springbok sprinter in her younger days and had a set of legs like an ostrich.

Peddling machine

It was the same year in which Arnold Schwarzenegger played a futuristic killer robot so Vogues inevitably became ‘The Urinator’.

When last bell rang he would be first at the bicycle shed, because he knew those he’d peed off during the course of the day were after him.

I was one of them. He would be first out the gate with us hot on his heels but not once did we manage to catch him.

You see, once on his bicycle The Urinator transformed into a peddling machine.

Even though his was an ancient delivery bike – the guy’s parents were dirt poor – and ours sleek racing machines, he was unstoppable.

We could never figure out how he did it with those spaghetti legs.

Today I know.

A ghost

Once on his clunky bicycle and out the schoolyard The Urinator was free, and by out-peddling us he not only escaped possible physical injury but also the emotional hurt he felt inside.

He rode for freedom – for all the little guys who had to suffer the wrath of cruel kids every day.

Along that 5km stretch through town he was not The Urinator but a hero to those like him.

However, that was only 5km a day in a life that was a winding road of misery.

During recess and in between classes there was no escape, like the time someone blasted him with a fire extinguisher right in the face.

When the white cloud lifted The Urinator was still sitting there, motionless.

Pale as a ghost.

I’ve since learned that the white powder extracts oxygen from the air, so he probably had a near death experience.

Or the time someone crawled in underneath the tables and smeared on, and set alight, some highly flammable glue on the tip of his shoe…

The flames took to his trousers in a flash and set the smoke alarm off.

That day, having a bladder problem saved his life.

Success

School back in the day was not for sissies so, to ease my guilty conscience, I like to believe that’s what made The Urinator succeed in life.

From what I hear he lives in England today.

He’s an accountant and quite well off.

And he’s still a machine on a bicycle, competing in the National Masters Road Race Championships.

No one rides in his slipstream.