A few days before my departure, I received a phone call on a Siemens C25, a mobile phone I bought from Kopo. He always introduced himself as Jacky. Kopo was exclusive to me! I was preparing the phone to take me to the sick man of Europe. I had it on charge and, to my surprise, it suddenly rang! I did not know that Kopo left a sim card in it. A rattling, quiet, broken voice, which I instantly recognized, asked? Is that you, Jacky? On the line was Alfi, Kopo’s friend, with whom he fell out a few weeks back, but he never shared it with me.
It was not a fallout in the classical sense. However, Kopo could not see the point of carrying on. Alfi had run out of the greens he had planted in his garage. Their music did not go in any direction either. Drinking beer and smoking throughout the rehearsals can be a fun-filled affair up to a point. Still, if you just improvise and put nothing down on a piece of paper or record it in any shape or form, things can get tense after a while. They played music similar to Pink Floyd but were instrumental. Kopo was a great solo guitar player who studied all solos by David Gilmore.
I was not helping matters either because every time I saw him, I told him, “How can you work with an idiot like this guy?” Now, to be entirely fair and honest, Alfi was not stupid!
His parents left him a house, and he received an education. He smoked and walked around in his bathroom robe all day and played with his thoughts about the meaning of life. He could allow himself to be an absolute hard-core artist without having to pay a penny. We crossed paths a few times, and on one occasion, he told us, “They ordered me to undergo a physical exam before military service. So I sat down, and my first question for the medical inspector was, “When am I getting the gun?”
Imagine the situation just for a second! He dodged the army for a few years on the grounds of his studies. Finally, he ran out of the road, and they caught up with him. He got his appointment, and by law, he needed to attend. Upon his arrival, just before the doctor could check his hearing, his physical and mental health, and his testicles to ensure all was fine. He could join the force, and he politely asked, “When can I get the gun?”
The doctor asked him what he wanted to do with the gun, and he answered, “I really and truly just want one because I am itching to pull the trigger and shoot the first person who comes in my way.”
They stopped his tests straightaway and referred him to a head shrink. According to him, as the doctor opened the door, he felt that his life had just changed. As they laid eyes on each other, a volcano of emotions erupted. Several years ago, when he was a keyboardist in a cover band, he pinned her against the toilet wall at a venue and gave her every inch of his love. Then she squeezed him out like a lemon, and the juice ran down his hairy legs.
Kopo and I had just turned 23 years old when we heard this story. I recall sitting there as if I was in a dentist’s chair, my jaw open, saliva running out of my mouth and down my neck. Well, I don’t know how much of this is true. I found a Led Zeppelin CD on the street a few months back, and “Whole Lotta Love” read the exact text Alfi used all those years ago!
He only spent 15 minutes with her. She filed a report, and three soldiers drove him from the military base to his home address, several hundred kilometres away. Under normal circumstances, they would take the examined soldiers back home the next day on a bus. In a worst-case scenario, they foot the entire bill for public transport, and you must make your way home yourself.
Alfi’s case was different! The lieutenant decided that escorting this private was essential, and they drove him back in a Volkswagen transporter. One soldier drove the bus, and two accompanied him in the back. He did not share what this woman stated in her writing, but the fact was that the Austrian job centre did not ask questions, nor did they send him any job offers; they just let him be. The man had never worked an honest day in his life. Some juices were flowing at the Kalte Kuchl venue. Eight months of compulsory army service or 12 months of required communal service for the Red Cross or in a senior citizens’ home, among other examples, and he was under no duty to do any of it.
He also turned and twisted stories around so that the Austrian Jobcentre paid him up so he could live his life without having to work. More or less, he also worked it out with the council that he got food delivered to his doorstep every single day. He claimed it for his aged father but mercilessly joined in.
The guy was, of course, completely nuts and out of his head, but he came across calmly, and from the way he talked, one could tell that he, broadly speaking, was not a stupid person. He just posted about life and surviving to the limit and beyond. Plainly speaking, Alfi had run out of greens, the music did not go anywhere either, and he was unwilling to pay for beers. Kopo was no longer interested in playing with him because he was an absolute freeloader. When he had something, he shared, but this was a rare occasion unless he got it from someone for free. Then he was happy to share it with some people. He ate several times and drank at my place, but I do not recall ever showing up with a bottle of anything.
Alfi asked me if I had a new number for Kopo because he was keen on talking to him. He owed him an apology. I had the number, but since this guy never wanted me in the band and Kopo never pushed hard enough to get me in, I was not interested in leading the reunion and makeup. By all odds, I did not want to help either of them. I did not think it was fair. I introduced them to each other, and they did not let me join in. So I told Alfi, “I have his number, but I cannot give it to you without his permission.” “So this is what I am going to do,” I replied.
I will pass your number on to him, and he will if he feels like calling you. He went ballistic. What the bloody hell are you talking about, you crazy man? We have had the same landline number since the Second World War. Kopo practically lived in this house. He has my number, you nutter; just tell him I have called.
I said, “Listen, man. You either change your tone with me, or I jump into my car and drive it to your address. I will drag you out of that damp, mouldy stink-hole where you hide and vegetate, and I will give you a slap so that your snot jumps out of your candy nose and cuts a thread around your neck. I met this weirdo at his cousin’s, where we had band rehearsals occasionally. I said, “After introducing you to Kopo, you guys smoked me out, which did not sit well with me at all, and to any action, there is a reaction.” “You refused several times to have me join your project and have fun, and now you want favours.” “Carry me to the toilet, you moron,” I replied.
I hung up the phone, dropped Kopo a line, and informed him. I will pass on what I know, but it comes with a price. In exchange, I want your Palm V, I added. He got it from somewhere or perhaps even bought it, but he did not really use it. Nevertheless, it was a pretty cool personal digital assistant and possibly the only item in his possession worth something I did not have.
I understand it may sound harsh, but bitterness over the past sat steadily on the aorta, reducing the blood flow to my arteries and subsequently lessening the amount entering my brain. Surely no one can expect me to be an angel if they are the devil disguised.
I said, “Let’s meet tonight at our regular pizza place, and I will tell you the news. In exchange, I want the Palm Pilot. However, I cannot guarantee that my information is worth it. This is a chance you have to take. ” I have always been honest and fair with the people I cut deals with. Honesty in life and business was always important to me. I told him, “I received a call on the C25 from someone with whom you had a lot of fun in the past, and they are eager to talk to you.” I made him curious beyond his wildest dreams. I did not disclose if it was a male or a female. Possibly he thought one of his ex-birds wanted to catch up.
There was no way for him to consider dropping out of this deal. He wanted 1,000 shillings for the Palm Pilot a few weeks back, as he wanted to sell it to me. I had that information in my arsenal, and I knew the item was within my grasp. He came with his girlfriend to the pizza shop and put the palm pilot on the table, which I pulled towards me. I pushed Alfi’s landline number on a piece of paper to him. He looked at me strangely and said, “I was waiting for the good news. What is this all about? I said, “Alfi called and wanted to justify himself, and he needs to talk to you. I had the Palm Pilot in my pocket by then. The news did not impress him.
Alfi must have hurt him a lot, but he said thank you. I shall call him. He looked at me at the table and said, “You are going to be a successful businessperson, but you have to work on the butt hole in yourself a bit more. Of course, it was all just a silly happenstance. I was in the room when that phone rang. I picked it up and had information that I believed was important to him. I passed it on in exchange for a Palm Pilot, which was influential in 2000. All would have been over if I had not been in the room when the phone rang. I would never return a missed call on someone else’s sim card. This is how life plays out sometimes. I brought them back together, but it had a price, which benefited me. When I introduced them to each other, they spoiled me, so he paid a heavy price. Instant Karma is always going to get you!
The story’s moral is, “If you want to win and succeed, you must be at the right time, at the right place, with the right product, offering it to the right person.” Of course, it is easier said than done, but one must keep trying.