Paddling past the Sea Point promenade at sunset can be an almost spiritual experience, sure the sun can blind you on your way out from Granger Bay, but the scenery is second to none. As I returned from a recent paddle and made my way back to the small Oceana harbour my state of nirvana was interrupted by what appeared to be the Copacabana's finest on an anchored yacht flagging me down. I obliged and made my way over.
Upon closer inspection I realized that it was a bunch of middle aged men doing the hand waving but I kept my course thanks to the shopping mall induced Fa La La La La, La La La La that I had been humming. This wasn't the first time my salt encrusted glasses had let me down. Once within an ear-shot I expected a simple paddling related question but instead heard what sounded like would you get us some beer from the club house. The Oceana Power boat club has a reasonably priced bar at the club house but sadly no hot showers, but I digress. Under normal circumstances I would have rejected them off hand, but 'twas the season. The sun was also setting and I was about the get cold so I responded with what's in it for me? There must have been some static on the line as they repeated their question and I repeated my response. The offer was fifty ZAR and went up to a hundred without further prompting from me. So we had a deal. I circled the yacht and made my approach for landing at its stern.
I had never worked for a Mr. Delivery or Butlers Pizza and this was to be my first pre-paid job under the random paddler brand. I had recently discovered that the delivery guy does not necessarily get done in when taken up on a free delivery promise. If you don't tip the delivery guy gets a percentage on any repeat business if it is your first order. I was happy to have negotiated a pre-paid tip, there was little hope of repeat business and I had the option of keeping the tip if they experienced the horror of seeing me keeling over on the way back. Their order ended up being one six pack and a bottle of white wine. Someone attempted upping the order to two six packs but he must have realized that this was pushing the limits of what a single paddler could be expected to handle. They seemed like genuinely nice guys and I was happy to try and help them out. The cash was tucked under my paddling vest and I set off to take on the gruelling 100m to the bar.
Once at the bar a convenient side window for wet patrons like myself was pointed out. I particularly enjoyed the reaction after explaining that I was taking a delivery, making it sound as if I did this for a living. Shipping the booze back turned out to be dead easy, the white wine & change went under the life saving jacket and six pack was wedged in between my knees. I got a hero's reception as they spotted me coming back with the six in-between my legs. Things got even merrier when I reached down and produced the bottle of Drostdy-Hof that had been hidden underneath my life saving jacket. As I play it out in my memory I hear Chariots of Fire in the background.
Being an impromptu delivery paddler was an unexpectedly pleasurable experience. To me such a random event is the spice of life, not as fiery as a good down wind, but still pretty hot.
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