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The striding Johnny Walker and the cooked Grey Goose
Peeping Tom…
Kaieteur News- It happens with every administration in Guyana—like clockwork, like termites in a wooden cupboard or relatives during mango season. The government gets elected, and out comes the bums.
Not the homeless, mind you, but a more evolved species: the Political Parasitus Maximus. These are men with heavy portfolios and appetites that defy physics. They don’t walk into your life; they ooze.
Now some of these persons, not all, believe that once they get a government post, they’ve been knighted into the Order of the Eternal Freeness. Suddenly, your table becomes their table, your party becomes their party, and your bottle of Grey Goose becomes their birthright.
Some of them walk into your business and because of their position and status, feel they can pick up what they want, have you bag it and walk out without you accepting payment. Mind you most of them do not ask for it to be given freely. They do not demand a discount. You just wait until they ask “How much?” and for you to say, “It is oaky” – the euphemism for free.
But some of the bums also like free drinks and food – and not necessarily at wedding houses. They’ve perfected the art of appearing just as the cork is about to pop or the stewed chicken is being served, lurking near buffet tables like political apparitions, whispering “small piece fuh taste” while securing a heaping plate that could feed a battalion. These are not your average moochers; they are tacticians of the highest order, crashing birthday parties, anniversaries, even funerals if the menu’s right—anywhere generosity is mistaken for hospitality, and the word “contribution” is treated like a foreign language.
The other night, I’m out with friends, having what I believed was a private drink—though in Guyana, privacy is a theoretical concept, like proper urban planning or affordable air conditioning. We’re sipping quietly, avoiding politics and existential dread, when in slides this human barnacle. No invitation, no warning—just pulls up a chair with the confidence of a man who thinks “split the bill” is an attack on democracy.
Nobody called him. Nobody poured him a drink. But there he was, summoning the waiter like he was knighted. Orders a drink, then some food—expensive food too, like prawns grown in Perrier. And then, with the shamelessness of a man raised entirely by government per diems, he laughs and orders another drink. Just for himself. Not even a “what you guys having?”—the bare minimum of social parasitism!
I politely informed the waiter that the gentleman at our table is what we call in the business an interloper, and his culinary expedition must be paid for from his own treasury. I get up, toss a final sip of my rum like it’s the last act of Macbeth, and walked out.
Word is he was later presented with a bill and a moral lesson. Though knowing these types, he probably tried to claim it as a “constituency outreach expense.”
The truth is, Guyana’s governments are bipartisan when it comes to freeloaders. PPP, APNU, AFC—it doesn’t matter the letters. Within the ranks of each of them, there are spongers. During the Christmas season, one of them from the APNU was known to go around to all the private Christmas parties, announcing that he was representing his workplace and his boss, the big one.
Then there are those freeloaders who get their vacations sponsored by businessmen with names that sound like offshore accounts. I once saw a senior police officer taking his entire family—children, wife, possibly a cousin—into an embassy to get visas. Five people! On a policeman’s salary! Unless he’s moonlighting as a CEO someone is clearly footing that bill. But I digress.
Some habits never die. Now with Trump’s tariffs, some businesses are beginning to prepare for Christmas before the tariffs and the anticipated recessions kicks in. And while the businesses are seeking to mitigate the inevitable fallout, the bums are preparing for their favorite season: Giftmas.
Normally, they expect Johnnie Walker and Grey Goose. This year? Ha! With the dark clounds hovering over the global economy, they’re [rpbably getting Ivanoff and maybe some Five-Year rum—on sale. Johnnie Walker will have to walk barefoot and the Goose? Let’s just say he’s cooked.
But not to worry—these guys are professionals. They’ll still show up to your party, eat your food, drink your drink, and leave with your centerpiece. After all, what are friends in high places for?
(The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of this newspaper.)
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