Money makes the wheels go round...

Today I earned a total of 20 cents at Bree Street Rank. There is so much money to be had if you know just where to look. Mostly thrown on the ground, mostly discarded coppers, although sometimes you're luckier and something bigger crops up. On Saturday I was travelling down through Noord, passed the Johannesburg Art Gallery, and I caught sight of an elephant under the back seat. A whole elephant. R20. It was a good day for White Man Jumping. I snatched it up quick as you can and sat there thinking: what a score! It pains me, however, to take money like that. Most of these people don't have much, but I have a theory about money that I would like to share with you. I don't think it's completely my own, or even a very workable theory, but it might explain why someone would go ahead and drop 20 bucks in a taxi (and this is not the first time this has happened either).

To understand my theory you need to imagine that money isn't real, that it doesn't exist. No wait, hear me out. Money, the daily reality that is commerce, exists solely in our collective consciousness. Our desire for something to exist that we can trade between ourselves for other things is the foundation upon which the very nature and value of currencies extend themselves. This is pretty much an established fact, passed down by economists to us little folk and for the most part, I think it holds true. It forms the departure point for my theory which is, I'm afriad, just a little 'esoteric'.

If you choose to discard money, throw it away, no matter the denomination/ value you are discarding, money will in return reciprocate this lack of respect, trust, and meaning, and pretty much do the same to you. As a concept money takes no shit from any of us, if you abuse it it will desert you. Ergo: if you're going to go throwing 5 cent pieces about, don't expect to find the big guns waiting to crowd your wallet, and don't be surprised if you lose money all the time.

Over the years I have found more tom in taxis and the ranks than elsewhere. Most of it is 5c pieces. I saw a mamma, a trader in Bree Street Rank, chuck a whole handful out onto the tarred lanes. I don't make a big thing about collecting these discarded units of our communal angst but I tracked down as many as I could, after they had rolled on about, abused and miffed at the whole thing I'm sure, then continued on my way. Every so often I get up out a taxi and there's all this change, all this silver, just lying useless on the seats. Thank you very much, I don't mind if I do.

The moral, I suppose, of this little episode is: If you're travelling the taxis, or walking the ranks, keep your eyes on the ground, keep your head downcast. Not in fear, supplication, or humility, you fool. People are forever losing their change.

Outspan.


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