The man called Jet.
Many years ago when I had the supermarket in Umlaas Road, I had the good fortune to meet a most amazing character. Jet was somewhere between 75 and 80 and he lived on a nearby farm with his new bride of twenty. We looked forward to his daily visit and laughed at his crazy ways and even crazier stories.
Eid was a very hard time for us, as everyone in the area took advantage of the fact that we had a butchery section with a cold room. I had dozens of sheep to store and slice and pack and deliver and all of this was done free of charge. We were normally quite glad when the end was in sight and life returned to normal.
It was in the thick of one of the Eids that I had a visit from my good friend Jet. He asked if I would store a piece of meat for him and feeling sorry for the old man I agreed on condition that he not leave it too long. We got a monthly visit from the health inspector and three random inspections from the Meat Board, and they surely would have a problem with my having privately slaughtered meat in the cold room. Jet agreed and proceeded to bring in the biggest hind quarter of beef that I have ever seen! I swallowed hard and made place for the monster.
A week passed and I did not hear from Jet. All the other meat was delivered and my butcher shop looked neat as a pin, except for Jets hindquarter. When he finally came to buy cigarettes I reminded him about the meat and he went into the cold room and came out with a chunk of steak! From this day on, Jet came daily and went home with a slice of steak for his supper. It was clear that at this rate it would last for a year!.
Some time later I had the dreaded visit by the inspector of the Meat board. This really nice guy took one look at the unmarked, blackened (from age) hindquarter and I knew I was in trouble.
When I tried to explain that some old guy had left it with me, he said “Eid was more than a month ago” there was no doubt that I was in deep doo doo.
Due to the apartheid restrictions on my opening a store in Umlaas Road I was forced to use the name of a white as a front. Mr Adriaan Moore (the local lawyer) was my nominee. When I realized that I was in trouble, and I called Mr Moore and asked him to speak to the inspector. Secretly I hoped that two white men would exchange the secret hand shake and laugh the matter off, over a beer and braai (barbeque).
I was not that lucky. The Meat Inspector’s face began to turn red and then got even darker. I was afraid that he would have a seizure. Mr. Moore was clearly telling this guy what he could do with his threats. This did not look good for me. When he put the phone down Mr Meat board looked like he was ready to eat me raw. He stomped into the cold room and came out with the hindquarter wrapped in some kind of cloth, cited me for a bunch of offenses. The kicker was that he revoked my license to trade as a butcher!
When that afternoon Jet came to the store, to collect his piece of steak I told him how his stupid hindquarter had cost me my license, and he was appropriately sad, but I was sure that he was thinking more of the meat he had lost than my license.
A week later I made the trip to Durban to the Meat board head office. Farm boy that I was, I found Durban a little intimidating. Having addressed all of the issues in the citations and paid all the fines. I met the same Meat Board Inspector, who it turned out was in good spirits. I pleaded with him to re-issue my license and he did so. Just like that.
Then he said “I had a visit from your friend the priest” I looked at him, not understanding. “What priest” I asked. “The guy they call Jet, he came with his papers proving his appointment as a moulana, I though it only fair that I return his meat” !!??
Jet had gone to Durban, and using faked papers convinced the Meat board that he was a Moulana and gotten his meat back!. The fact that I got my license back was secondary. While I was intimidated by the thought of the daunting trip to Durban, Jet had actually gone there and kicked ass.
Now I knew why they called him Jet!
M Parak Jan 2007
Eid was a very hard time for us, as everyone in the area took advantage of the fact that we had a butchery section with a cold room. I had dozens of sheep to store and slice and pack and deliver and all of this was done free of charge. We were normally quite glad when the end was in sight and life returned to normal.
It was in the thick of one of the Eids that I had a visit from my good friend Jet. He asked if I would store a piece of meat for him and feeling sorry for the old man I agreed on condition that he not leave it too long. We got a monthly visit from the health inspector and three random inspections from the Meat Board, and they surely would have a problem with my having privately slaughtered meat in the cold room. Jet agreed and proceeded to bring in the biggest hind quarter of beef that I have ever seen! I swallowed hard and made place for the monster.
A week passed and I did not hear from Jet. All the other meat was delivered and my butcher shop looked neat as a pin, except for Jets hindquarter. When he finally came to buy cigarettes I reminded him about the meat and he went into the cold room and came out with a chunk of steak! From this day on, Jet came daily and went home with a slice of steak for his supper. It was clear that at this rate it would last for a year!.
Some time later I had the dreaded visit by the inspector of the Meat board. This really nice guy took one look at the unmarked, blackened (from age) hindquarter and I knew I was in trouble.
When I tried to explain that some old guy had left it with me, he said “Eid was more than a month ago” there was no doubt that I was in deep doo doo.
Due to the apartheid restrictions on my opening a store in Umlaas Road I was forced to use the name of a white as a front. Mr Adriaan Moore (the local lawyer) was my nominee. When I realized that I was in trouble, and I called Mr Moore and asked him to speak to the inspector. Secretly I hoped that two white men would exchange the secret hand shake and laugh the matter off, over a beer and braai (barbeque).
I was not that lucky. The Meat Inspector’s face began to turn red and then got even darker. I was afraid that he would have a seizure. Mr. Moore was clearly telling this guy what he could do with his threats. This did not look good for me. When he put the phone down Mr Meat board looked like he was ready to eat me raw. He stomped into the cold room and came out with the hindquarter wrapped in some kind of cloth, cited me for a bunch of offenses. The kicker was that he revoked my license to trade as a butcher!
When that afternoon Jet came to the store, to collect his piece of steak I told him how his stupid hindquarter had cost me my license, and he was appropriately sad, but I was sure that he was thinking more of the meat he had lost than my license.
A week later I made the trip to Durban to the Meat board head office. Farm boy that I was, I found Durban a little intimidating. Having addressed all of the issues in the citations and paid all the fines. I met the same Meat Board Inspector, who it turned out was in good spirits. I pleaded with him to re-issue my license and he did so. Just like that.
Then he said “I had a visit from your friend the priest” I looked at him, not understanding. “What priest” I asked. “The guy they call Jet, he came with his papers proving his appointment as a moulana, I though it only fair that I return his meat” !!??
Jet had gone to Durban, and using faked papers convinced the Meat board that he was a Moulana and gotten his meat back!. The fact that I got my license back was secondary. While I was intimidated by the thought of the daunting trip to Durban, Jet had actually gone there and kicked ass.
Now I knew why they called him Jet!
M Parak Jan 2007
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