CSI Jo'burg

There is no denying that Jo'burg is a dangerous place to live in. The mere thought of moving here last year left me with many a sleepless night. If I had to compare myself to any character from recent films, it would be the extra employed to provide a bit of comic relief but who then gets killed off providing even more comic relief. Or possibly eliciting some sympathy but not for long.

I am street smart to a degree. But how much is street smarts going to help you when you get assaulted in a parking lot because you took some plastic plaything's parking space? No, I seem to be a magnet attracting all sorts of weird and wondrous things towards my life. If you've read some of my previous blogs, you may remember my gripes about everything from poor service to being surrounded by stupid people (remember Herr Dumm). As annoying as it is, to a degree I can live with it. Because at no point did it actually affect my personal well being.

Yesterday I was reminded why Jo'burg is a dangerous city to live in. The head office I'm based at is in an industrial part of Jo'burg. It's surrounded by mine dumps (why don't you people do something with these things?), panel beaters and a rather large depot dispatching beer. It's not the most visually attractive location but it is central and up to yesterday, seemingly quite safe.

Picture this. Johannesburg. 2009. (I've been watching endless hours of The Golden Girls). The morning started off with a sinister chill in the air, a chill that has been absent for a good 10 days. I should have known that it was a warning. A warning to steer clear from the office, clearance sales and eating Russian Specials from the take-away up the road. But I fought off the sinister feeling creeping up my spine and seeping into my bones. It took immense bravery on my part but I got in my car and drove to the office. I am Legend.

It's a Thursday. No real relevance to the story other than to provide you with as much useless detail as possible. I was typing away when the co-worker from hell decided to blast the fire alarm horn type thing right in front of my door. Fire! After coming close to soiling myself, I grabbed my handbag, both my cellphones, my keys and an apple. Just in case we were left outside for a prolonged period and I got hungry. Doing exactly what you are not supposed to do during a fire drill. Needless to say, said annoying co-worker kept blasting the horn. I suppose when all you have to do to fill your working day is stare at your computer screen, the chance to be in charge of alerting your colleagues of a fire drill must be exhilarating. I just wanted to kick him in his fire hose. I'm still partially deaf in my right ear.

We evacuated in 1 minute and 55 seconds. Impressive, I thought. Until I realised that it probably would've taken longer if more people were at the office. They must have had the same sinister chill penetrating their bones that morning and decided to stay home. The yellow bellied cowards.

Slowly we filed back into the office. I barely had a chance to start eating my apple. The idiotic co-worker with his horn in hand was grinning from ear to ear. I could've kicked him again at that point. Sadist. Who cares about Occupational Health and Safety rules considering what happened next?

On a visit to the bathroom (again, courtesy of the idiot with the horn and 6 glasses of water), I spotted something lying next to the photocopier. Why I looked at the floor at that point in time I still don't know. I suspect that I was channeling Gil Grissom, ace investigator in CSI Las Vegas. I picked up the small, copper object and to my surprise discovered it was a bullet. I couldn't believe my eyes. As I told my colleagues about it, one of them exclaimed that there was a small hole in the ceiling directly above her desk. And that when she arrived at work that morning, she spotted bits of ceiling and paint chips all over her desk. She thought it was just shoddy workmanship and didn't think too much of it. But I immediately knew something was up. We just discovered the entry point for the mysterious bullet. I walked to her desk and immediately spotted where the bullet scorched her desk. Putting myself in the place of the bullet, I saw where it bounced off the filing cabinet and ended up at the photocopier. My colleagues sat in stunned silence. My skillful analysis left them amazed. I wasn't even myself anymore at that point. I had become Gil Grissom.

After getting half the office trampling all over my crime scene, the bullet was identified as a 9mm. And that there was drag racing in the road running past the office the previous night around 22:00. I deduced that it was quite possible that in the chaos and mayhem of the racing, a bullet was discharged by some unsavoury character associated with drag racing. Anybody who think these guys actually look like Paul Walker from The Fast and the Furious is a bigger idiot than Mr. Fire Hose 2009. No, they represent the underbelly of souped up cars and nitrogen tanks strapped to VW Beetles. At least, that's my analysis and I'm sticking to it.

Moving all the jokes to one side for a few seconds, it is frightening that a bullet could penetrate the exterior of the roof, go through admittedly a rather thin ceiling, scorch part of a desk and land up at a photocopier. The poor lady occupying that particular desk felt rather shook up. Had it happened during the day, she would've died instantly from a horrible, freak accident. Jo'burg is a dangerous place to live in. No argument there.

Back to the lighter side of things, I'm ready for a career in forensics. The ease with which I discovered the bullet and traced its path led me to believe that I can give top SA cop, Piet Byleveld, a run for his money. I mulled over this incident for most of yesterday and last night. My extraordinary detective skills overwhelmed me. I could be of much better use working for the SAPS than where I'm at now. I also realised at around 03:00 this morning that there may be a dead guy in the ceiling.

He'll just have to stay there. I'm Gil Grissom, not the poor sod who gets dispatched to go and recover the body. I'm finally the lead character in my own show.