Diners at the Knobble Hill Hotel were left clutching their napkins in shock this past weekend when an inebriated cross-dresser, teetering in size 12 stilettos, transformed the normally sedate Sunday lunch service into an all-you-can eat buffet of gender-bending haute couture.
The individual in question, who wished to be known as Miss Josephine, made a grand entrance in the hotel’s rose garden, just outside the Tudor Room, sporting a bold red floral ensemble that could only be described as fearlessly flamboyant. The outfit- a calf-length skirt, camisole, and matching blouse in a diaphanous, figure-hugging polyester fabric was topped off with sling-back silver heels and a patent red clutch. The daring fashion statement might have graced the pages of Vogue, had it not been accompanied by a quart of Carling Black Label.
While Miss Josephine’s nails were impeccably manicured, her demeanor was significantly less polished. Witnesses described Josephine as, “completely plastered and obviously a man in women’s clothing”. A point confirmed by Mr. Amos Sithole, a waiter at the hotel, who revealed that Joseph Ntshangase had been “enjoying a considerable amount” of alcohol in the staff canteen, earlier that day.
Guests at Table Four, a prime location by the window, renowned for offering a perfect panoramic view of the award-winning gardens, found themselves dismayed to discover a floral display of an entirely different variety.
Mr. and Mrs. Tremoulet, longtime hotel patrons, initially assumed Ntshangase was simply a guest out for a pre-lunch stroll. That was until her increasingly erratic movements and repeated stumbles as her high heels dug into the turf. As Ntshangase’s performance grew louder and increasingly boisterous, diners began abandoning their pickled fish to watch the spectacle unfold.
“Well, I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. We were always cross-dressing in Happy Valley. In fact, my late husband was never happier than when he was wearing my twin-set and pearls.”
Upon seeing the disturbance, Mr. Michael White, the highly accomplished maître d’hôtel, made a beeline for the French doors. White’s prestigious career included serving none other than HRH Princess Margaret at the Royal Albert Hall in London- he was used to over-the-top performances but nothing quite like this.
To his horror, but not surprise, he immediately recognized Ntshangase as an off-duty hotel employee who, to make matters even more surreal, had worn this exact same outfit to the staff end-of-year party.
Thinking swiftly, White attempted to restore order- he closed curtains on proceedings, shooed away curious diners, and discreetly called security.
However, his efforts were met with fierce resistance from guests at the window tables, who flatly refused to accept the curtains being drawn, citing both the hot weather and their right to a scenic garden view.
One particularly indignant patron was overheard exclaiming, “I mean, they’ve already had the bald-faced impertinence to take jelly and custard off the menu—and now this! If they’re not careful, I shall take my custom to Fern Hill or Rawdons.”
Upon the arrival of Head of Security Mr. Ram Khumalo, Ntshangase launched into an ear-splitting stream of invective. Khumalo showed considerable strength and skill in restraining Ntshangase who put up fearsome resistance. Two security guards joined the effort to restrain the frocked felon who had by this time removed their high heals and was using them as weapons to hammer the head of anyone in striking distance. Finally the three men brought Ntshangase to a heel, and was then dragged off and handcuffed to the guard hut to the delight of some and disappointment of many.
With many of the guests being pensioners and hard of hearing, the whole scene might have played out like a slap-stick silent film had it not been for octogenarian socialite Mrs Shirley Forsyth-Thompson who was on hand to provide a running commentary of the proceedings.
As she prepared to depart the parking lot, perched behind her considerably younger boyfriend on a Harley Davidson, Mrs. Forsyth-Thompson, who originally hails from Gilgil, Kenya, was quoted as saying:
“Well, I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. We were always cross-dressing in Happy Valley. In fact, my late husband was never happier than when he was wearing my twin-set and pearls.”