During my school days at St George's, a student in the year above me named James was renowned for being a little eccentric. He was fiercely intelligent, but he had a habit of pacing up and down while muttering to himself, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. Whenever he became obsessed with a new subject, he would transform overnight into a walking encyclopedia, spouting forth intricate details to anyone within earshot. He was friendly enough, and I always quite liked him.
After school, James went on to the University of Cape Town, but our paths continued to cross at a local Christian youth group. By then, he had directed the full, laser-focused intensity of his intellect toward religion, rapidly becoming a formidable scholar on all things biblical.
When I eventually advanced to the University of Cape Town myself, James was already a legendary campus fixture, famous among the student body for his endless pacing up and down the iconic Jamieson Steps.
One afternoon, I stepped into the campus lift to head up to the chemistry lab, and by pure coincidence, James was inside too. We greeted each other warmly. As the lift ascended floor by floor, more and more students piled in, until the space became uncomfortably squished—a complete sardine can of packed bodies.
Just as the claustrophobia reached its absolute peak, James cleared his throat with great authority. He somehow managed to swivel around, looked out over the sea of trapped faces, and announced at full volume:
"I want you all to know that Jesus loves you. Praise His holy name!"
The moment the doors slid open at the very next floor, there was a frantic stampede for the exits. A complete mass exodus - half the lift emptied out in a split second, leaving behind a blissful expanse of empty space.
James turned to me with a brilliant, mischievous smile and whispered, "Praise Jesus! Works every time."
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