There is a little craft shop in this town called the Igloo. On each visit, I go there and buy a few second-hand books, old LPs and koek-susters to try and do my bit for support the locals.
On one occasion, there was a young man of about 17 behind the counter, chewing gum and playing some obnoxious game on his Nokia brick (which was barely held together with an elastic band). Smiling at him sweetly, I started my browsing.
"Where you from?" he asks me, finally taking a break from the shrill beeps eminating from his cellphone.
"Jo'burg," I reply quickly and turn my back on him, showing him that I would rather not make small talk. After all, us Jo'burgers are like that, aren't we?
"Ah, koel," he says. Chew. Chew. Beep beep. Brooooowse.
"Ag, bogger!" he suddenly screams. With a jump, I turn around readying myself for anything - a hold-up, a murder, a band of evil criminals. After all, us Jo'burgers are like that, aren't we?
And I see nothing but a young bloke fuming at the black weight in his hand.
"What’s your high score?" he asks me.
"Uhm - pardon?" I ask. I'm thinking - high score at what? My karma score? My bank balance?
"Snake," he says.
Slowly a little light comes on. I begin to put two and two together, having parents that once owned their very own Nokia bricks yonks ago, I remember a game about a pixelated snake getting longer and longer as it happily chomped colourless squares. And I realise - this is all he knows.
"I don't play much. Can you ring this up?" I ask sweetly, desperately plonking my purchases on the counter and avoiding eye-contact. And for a second I consider being naughty - pulling out my new shiny toy and showing him some of my Java games. But in the end I decide not to.
After all, once we taste the fruit at the top of the tree, what good are the ones at the bottom?