On the Disintegration of the Family Unit and Responsibility Thereof

I'm on my way home. I'm tired and I'm annoyed by this stop. It's necessary but wholly inconvenient. "Why can't cars run on air?" I think to myself, "Or pollution? Or the bullshit that most people are satisfied with saying? Imagine driving around with a microphone antenna that soaks up society's hot air and propels the car you're in.

It's an interesting notion but until that day arrives, we're stuck with internal combustion and petrol stations. And we're stuck with petrol attendants. These men (and often women) perform a service to lazy South Africans that isn't performed anywhere in Europe or the States. Much like grocery packers, these people perform tasks that privelleged South Africans are accustomed to and - in most cases - take for granted.

Growing up, I was always suspicious of these people that would "cheat us" if we weren't careful. I picked up the habit of checking the reading on the petrol pump before paying my money. This stereotype was supported by an episode of Carte Blanche I saw where two petrol pump attendants filled a black bin with petrol and carted it away - presumably to sell at a higher price privately. And while I think that tolerance of criminals and - I'd venture to say - anti-social behaviour is something that preys on society's tolerance, I believe that anyone that hasn't been in that position is far too quick to judge these people for their actions.

Marx's class distinctions are at their clearest here. These distinctions are all the more distinct between races although they are not exclusively racial distinctions. I don't see the black super elite helping to create a stable black middle class. I don't see the white middle class helping the white lower class. I have also seen white petrol attendants and the incidents of white beggars is on the rise too.

In my frequent visits to the petrol station, I have not a single lasting mental image of a petrol attendant. These people became a blur; melting from one into the next until they became a single person that exists to serve me. I would like to make a point that I (as a minority of a minority in my view) am against racism. I believe myself to be just as valuable as the guy standing on the street with a piece of cardboard announcing the misfortunes of his/her life.

Aside over, I see now how the constant repetition of these experiences and my disinterest in them have made everyone of these attendants a copy of a copy of a copy until they were just the same transparent tool that I used every now and then.

The invisibility that these individuals seem to embody stems from this. These people are sometimes less noticeable than the guy holding up the piece of cardboard. This seems almost impossible but at least in my own experience it seems to be true.

This problem was highlighted after I found out about one of the station attendants on only the second day of shooting for this project. Even so, all that I found out was that Reuben had a family that lives in Hammanskraal. I have thought about my own fragmented sense of family before and I can only imagine how it must feel to be away from them for such prolonged periods of time. Missing holidays, having minimal contact and influence, being under so much pressure to support them.

The majority of the attendants that have helped me have been polite, friendly, helpful and honest. These people that are at a disadvantage - but more advantaged than the majority of this country - and that often times live far from their families in order to make money and support these families. It amazes me that so many cases occur where such a low percentage of people are answerable for such a high percentage. I mean, at least these people are doing something about it. Right?