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My letter to Telkom

2 Dec IMG_3017.PNG


Dear Telkom
This is just a quick note to say how much I abhor you.
I realise that, due to your seemingly infinite stupidity you might not understand the word abhor. Well, let me help you out with that…
Abhor: to regard with extreme repugnance or aversion; detest utterly; loathe; abominate.

Basically what it boils down to, is that I think you are almost like cancer, except for (I am glad to say) there IS hope for cancer sufferers.

“Why” would be a question you would very well have asked by now, had you not been a blithering idiot. I would then proceed to tell you exactly why.
I went in to a Telkom shop to relocate my line. See, I figured that actually going to you might make things a bit smoother. Eliminate one link in the chain of possible fuck ups.
What do you do? Make me call the Telkom help-line (help line, hahaha) from in-store.
Why the fuck do you even have staff in store, or for that matter, stores at all??


Much to my surprise, I will gallantly admit, the call made was not complete torture. Without out too much brain damage I managed to convey to your seemingly semi-coherent phone-talker that I would like to relocate.
Procedures were followed, details were detailed and arrangements were made. Even some queries with regards to costing options and such relevant to the service I require (which, btw, is internet) happened.
After the call, I was happy. One less thing on my already swamped mind (if you have ever moved, you’ll know what I am talking about). On Tuesday (which is now today) Telkom will send me a tech dude to connect my line and make me internetactive again.
I even got an sms with a larney reference number and everything.

Now Telkom, the slightly sharper pencils in the packet would have gotten where I am going to with this rant by now. Don’t worry, I’ll spell it our for you (just as soon as you wipe the drool off your chin.. There you go):

Not only did today go by without any sign of your promised visitor, but when I called to enquire as to his whereabouts, I was told so many different stories that it could be published by Tolkien (don’t worry, I know you won’t get that reference).
First, there was no record of my relocation request. Then suddenly there was a record of my call, but nobody knew why.
Then, all of a sudden your one system said that yes, my line is to be relocated. But, and your helpline oxygen waster was very adamant about this, relocation is impossible BECAUSE THERE IS NO ADSL COVERAGE IN MY NEW AREA??! And all I have to do is understand that the other system did not agree with it and it must have been broken and… Blah blah blah.

Look, you need to understand one thing (and I realise it is difficult, but do try): I do not give a singly flying fuck about your internal workings (using the term working very loosely).
For all that I care you could have 17 tiny fairies running on treadmills while being milked for magical internet juice. I don’t give a fuck.
How you work is your problem. When your highly incompetent helpline operator started to try and explain why I am not getting the service I am paying you pathetic bunch of morons for, I just gave up.

And see, thus is the nature of your company. You make people give up. You, dear Telkom, are dream destroyers. You are nasty bullies on the play-ground of life.
You are the embodiment of everything that is wrong with this wonderful country of ours, and I passionately despise you with every part of my being.

I could go ahead and explain to you how and why and how much of an inconvenience this is. I could even ask you to refund me the money I now have to pay in order for me to get replacement internet. But you won’t give a shit. You never do.
I simply wrote this to vent my frustration.

May your empire burn to the ground amidst no tears whatsoever from me, or the countless others you have screwed over.

Sincerely, FUCK YOU


How one kid saved the day… and South Africa’s future!

25 Nov Going Ape

I was fuming.

To understand what I am about to tell you, allow me to set the scene:

Kentucky_Fried_Chicken-pictreHungry. That was my primary emotion when I drove to KFC to buy myself and Martha (my household manager (you might call her a domestic worker (screw you, she manages my household and I am going to miss her dearly when I move))) some lunch.

Now, hungry -as far as emotions go- is a very basic, raw and primal urge. It leaves a lot of space for the modern man to experience other feelings and such too. It is important to note, that all these emotions that may be added on top of hungry, are still influenced by hungry, and are therefore going to have a much more pre-homo erectus feel to it. Basically, don’t expect any political correctness, undue niceness or unwarranted patience when cave man me go food find.

neanderthalCave-me bashed through the cement jungle on tar-laid paths to enter the common feeding ground where the chickens are harvested (or whatever it is that they do to turn our feathered friends into deliciousness). When suddenly, a wild asshole appears! Then another, and another.
By the time I turned my tamed bakkie into the drive-thru, I was swamped by creatures of slightly varying age, roughly between squeaky-voice and first beard all the way up to “If I studied harder I wouldn’t be sharing a classroom with my kids”.

The marauding pack of wild teenagers were loud, obnoxious, dirty and callous.  The noise I could handle, cave-me was a kid too (and kinda still is). It was the utter disregard for anything but themselves and the devices of varying technology held in their hands that got me. Empty packets were discarded along with (in my mind) empty futures on the ground. Then it happened. The proverbial excrement was flung accurately in the general direction of the hypothetical cooling apparatus, and struck mid spin.

Two of these careless wild beasts stomped around, shouting at each other (seeing as both had headphones stuffed too far up their ear canals, probably damaging whatever bit of grey matter they have so far developed), and promptly stomped a bit more, right in front of my now visibly frightened bakkie. She (my bakkie, not one of the mammals) let out a warning, a scream, a hoot if you will. The intention was to draw the attention of the strays, so as to avoid killing them.

Their reaction was not what one would expect from a subspecies whose life had just been saved by the kindness of an evolved being. No sudden jumps to get out of the way, no sheepish grins (which up until about 10 years ago was the universal indicator of admitting that you, the lesser being, screwed up). Nothing.
Nothing, except a dirty glance from the one beast, and then… gaze still fixed on its communication device, it did it. An arm lifted, hand visibly straining to be torn away from the piece of technology. From the balled fist, palm-area facing upward, extended a long, ugly middle finger.

go-back-guys-its-a-trapCave-me went wild. Cave-me jumped out and cracked skulls. Cave-me rampaged around, obliterating whatever specimens of these barely post-primordial-ooze individuals cave-me could find.
Luckily, cave-me was still held tight by Bakkie. Strapped in until modern-me got the overhand and started making decisions.

The rest of my hunt went well, and as I left behind me the herd of untamed future-destroyers, I could not help but wonder why we even bother.

Why do we bother to “leave a better South Africa”?
Why do we bother to educate, train and inspire?
Why do we bother to even think positively about our country, and indeed the world’s future?

Pushing a WheelchairThen I turned left, and saw a young man, of the same age and school as the previous miscreants, voluntarily running across the street to aid an older gentleman in a wheelchair. He helped the man to safely cross the street, and as I turned the next corner, my rear-view mirror showed the gratitude on the man’s face as the kid pushed him along the side-walk.

That is why we bother, and that why we must never stop.


Note: I am moving house on the 1st of December. Martha’s travel arrangements unfortunately make that she can’t manage my new living space. If you, or anyone you know, need a trustworthy assistant in the house, and you live in/around the general Moot area in Pretoria, South Africa, please get in touch.

The Reinvention of Work – My Dad was wrong

26 Jun I love my job
No, my dad is not Yoda, but he is old, so that counts

No, my dad is not Yoda, but he is old, so that counts

My dad is a wise man. He knows a lot and has impressed a great many people with his skill in his chosen profession.
He has answers to questions bizarre, and insight to match.
He is, for all practical purposes, a genius.
In one very important aspect however, my dad was wrong:

What is it, how do we do it and what should a responsible man’s work-life look like.

As a student of generational studies, I can meander into the dangerous territory of attempting to explain my father’s perspective by justifying his views based on his age, upbringing and various other factors. That however is way too boring, and I’ll leave for the professionals.
I would much rather like to invite you on a thought-adventure, a challenging epic of sorts, where you might get to re-evaluate how you see work, and indeed life itself.

As with any type of adventure, you’ll be faced with obstacles. Seeing as I am the purveyor of this adventure, I will set these mind-hurdles for you:

    • I work hard for my money
      The common misconception here is firstly that you work for your money.
      Yes, you do earn money for the job you do, service you offer or investment you make… but for no moment think that you work for your money. Your money works for youRobert Kiyosaki’s book, Rich Dad Poor Dad is the perfect example of how we need a foundation-shaking remodeling of our work-related mindsets. If you have not yet read it, I would strongly suggest you do so.
      My dad: “I know work is tough son, but you need to work so that you have money”
      Me: “Money is but one of the means enabling me to do my work


    • Mondays suck
      You have inevitably stumbled upon the quote “Find a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life”
      Firstly, a side-note: Stop trying to attribute it to someone. I’ve heard everything from Confucius to Mark Twain to Einstein heralded as the author of this seemingly awesome pearl of wisdom.
      “Seemingly?” I hear you ask. Yes, seemingly, for it is not true. You see, you still sit with the mindset that living is chore that you must find a way not to hate. I propose to you that once you find a happy lifestyle (and not a job) you will be able to make a living based on what makes you happy, as opposed to searching for joy in your menial existence.
      My dad: “I can’t wait for the weekend”
      Me: “Oh, it’s Monday? Didn’t notice…”


  • Prostitution is wrong… or is it?
    I love what I do
    The act of prostitution can (in my dictionary), be described as “selling pleasure for profit”.
    Living in the age we do, we have at our disposal a horde of options when it comes to career choices. You can turn almost any hobby into something profitable. I did it, and it is awesome!
    You see, we have the unprecedented advantage of living in a world we can be more than our parents ever hoped to be.
    My dad: “Do something established, like teaching”
    Me: “I see a need, and provide an answer. Sometimes, the other way round”



Above you encountered but a few of the hurdles posed by thinking about work in the traditional sense of the word.
In fact, if thought was food, I have merely served hors d’oeuvres. We haven’t reached the main course and I didn’t even order the fruit platter. I do however believe you have enough to, as it is, chew over…

Now, I can already hear your rebuttal, so let me answer you as best I can:

Yes, we will always need people who work. We need those who sweat day in and day out, we need those who brain things out, we need every profession that we currently have on this planet… and more.
The question is, do YOU need IT? And inversely, does IT need YOU?

If you love your 8-5, please do not feel the need to change what you do simply to be part of a new generation. You are already there. However, if you hate your life simply because of the work you do, maybe it is time to reinvent YOUR paradigm of what work IS.

This is an individual journey, so I cannot possibly tell you WHAT to change or even accurately HOW to.
I can simply encourage you to take a look around, and then inside yourself, and follow the journey your heart takes you on.


work in progress




This post is part of the Elance Blogathon.
Check them out on

Big thanks to The Common Room in Parkhurst for hosting the event


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