HUMOUR

Ndumiso Ngcobo comes out from under the covet

Irecently watched the 1991 flick Other People’s Money, starring that butterball Danny de Vito, for what seems like the 87th time. It’s a dark, quirky examination of corporate greed. The main character, played by De Vito, is a slick, vicious, fast-talking oneliner-churning corporate shark named Larry the Liquidator. At one point he sums up his existence by explaining, “I love money . . . There’s only one thing I love more than money. You know what that is? Other people’s money.”

The first time I watched the movie, in the early ’90s, I was a naïve teen and I thought he was merely expressing his infinite hunger for amassing as much money as he could lay his grubby hands on. You know, the sentiment expressed by our own beyondreproach Robin Hood, Julius Malema, when he fired that broadside in Patrice Motsepe’s direction at the Fighters’ birthday celebrations. Ironically, poor Motsepe had sat stony-faced on the podium as Obama also talked about wealthy individuals who do not know how much money is enough. But this is not about our (if some are to believed) president-in-waiting.

In subsequent viewings of the movie, it occurred to me that Larry the Liquidator was referring to the literal love of other people’s money. Armed with more life experience, I realised that the yearning for other people’s stuff is an actual phenomenon. This is regardless of whether one is in possession of one’s own things.

Anyone who has been blessed with children knows what I’m talking about. And I think it’s hard-wired into some (or is that all?) people’s DNA. I remember a former colleague, Megan, who had twins, Peter and Paul. I wish I was making these names up. Anyway, when they were about two years old, she bought both of them identical Incredible Hulk figurines, as one does to keep the peace.

Peter looked at his figurine, then looked at Paul’s. After about three seconds of scientific observation he came to the conclusion that he preferred the one in Paul’s hands. So he threw a tantrum until Megan found the Ban Ki-moon inside herself and brokered a swap deal. Peace descended upon the household. For about 10 seconds as Peter closely inspected his new figurine, then looked at the Hulk in Paul’s hands and realised he’d made a terrible mistake and started wailing uncontrollably à la Donald Trump. Did I mention the figurines were identical?

Of course, what I think was at play was that anything in Paul’s hands magically became more attractive to Peter. Staying with that biblical theme, Abel found out about this phenomenon the hard way at the hands of Cain.

Later on in the Holy Bible, the Almighty so favoured King David He bestowed upon him infinite resounding military victories, untold riches, unsurpassed political powers and the most beautiful women in the land of milk and honey.

Yet, when he beheld Bathsheba bathing, all of a sudden none of it seemed good enough. He just had to tuck into that jug of milk and honey. So he expedited her husband’s departure to the heavens to sing hosanna with Abraham and Moses. But I’m willing to bet my Bitcoin collection that as soon as the prophet Nathan said “I now pronounce you adulterer and adulteress”, she suddenly didn’t seem quite as enticing as when she had been Bathsheba, wife of Uriah the Hittite.

My wife is not immune to these Larry the Liquidator tendencies. This is an everyday scene at my house:

“Baby, I’m making myself a snack. Would you like me to prepare you some?”

“No. You know I’m watching my calories and I’ve been bad this week.”

After I sit down with my platter of feta, avocado, olives, cucumber, cherry tomatoes and mango atchar, I’ll realise I forgot my glass of gin and juice in the kitchen. Five seconds later I’m returning with my beverage only to find her tucking into my snack. Other people’s snacks!

“B-b-but I just asked you if you want some, Larry!” to which she’ll retort,

“But we vowed to share everything!” before grabbing my gin-and-juice. And she doesn’t even like gin-and-juice. She says it’s vile — unless it’s mine.

At this point I’d like to interrupt this programme to provide an update on Peter and Paul, the Incredible Hulk twins. They are about 27 years old now. I don’t know what this means, but Peter is now an investment banker in Sandton. The last I heard about Paul, he was a Greenpeace volunteer.

She suddenly didn’t seem quite as enticing as when she had been Bathsheba, wife of Uriah the Hittite