What I personally found a pity about the high-profile commercial of the Jumbo was that the humor was missing. Especially the hard humor. How wonderful it would have been if the orange spencer-clad ‘construction workers’ in polonaise had rushed across a graveyard. And not one of those raked-up Dutch cemetery with all good tombstones in a row, but a real slave charnel field with some rickety crosses of wreckage stuck in the desert ground on which only the first name of the deceased loser from Bangladesh had been scribbled in felt-tip pen.
Now I saw that the fun procession was led by my crazed showbiz colleagues from the Toppers and the unsurpassed rapper Donnie. But it would have been much more fun if Jumbo boss Frits van Eerd himself had led the procession in an open car. And it would be absolutely wonderful if this successful grocer had lavishly sprinkled with money notes. But hey, where do you get that so quickly? Who has that at home? So Fritz. Tons even. Why? Those Brabant workers seem to be rather expensive.
From which car our Frits should have sprinkled? He can choose from more than a hundred historic Formula 1 cars. He saves that. That seems like an expensive hobby that requires a lot of attention. Then of course you don’t have time to read the newspaper or watch the news in detail. That’s why he didn’t know that the construction workers in that commercial was a rather unfortunate choice. Can happen. And the people at the advertising agency probably hadn’t had time to follow the news either. I understand that, because that advertising world is usually full-time handing out prizes to each other. And at those parties there is good drinking and the noses must be spoiled. So you don’t have time for the regular world news. I get it.
And the polonaise itself? It consists of all noble extras and ambitious schnabbelbutts, who were happy that they could earn something again after the corona pandemic. It’s all so logical.
But Frits could of course have scattered his black cents from Sywert’s car. This tasteful German convertible will be for sale next Monday, but we should have used it for this good cause. After all, it is ‘our’ car. We all paid him once!
I would also have liked to see our king in the colorful procession. Preferably waving the letter from the cabinet that he was stammering clumsily about in his last press moment.
Press moment is a great word in his case. The good man is clumsily pressing again and again. The whole country sees him faltering every time, while his wife looks on encouragingly like a sweet caregiver. That look once started on that penitentiary after that previous trip to Greece and she can’t get rid of it. Whether or not he goes to Qatar? Yes, but he couldn’t say that yet. Why not? Therefore not. Who will rescue this glued-on fairytale activist from his predicament? Why are we doing this to these people? It’s 2022.
Those of me who should have been allowed to join the parade were those four ministers who recently traveled to Brussels to beg for goat paths. So that our country could continue to cheat with our half-baked nitrogen measures. They returned empty-handed. They don’t believe us in Brussels anymore! That was the obvious conclusion of this super quartet. So not there anymore. I understand that our dangerous center striker Staghouwer was also there. Too bad this pinchhitter wasn’t having his day then. I would have loved to have seen those empty handed in the Jumbo Polonaise.
The shame is over. No one looks anymore, let alone blushes. No king, no minister and certainly no megalomaniac super-marketers.
And there was also shocking news: De Ligt and Depay are injured and are unlikely to participate. Injured in Qatar. Slightly injured. That’s just humor. But we do show guts. The captain goes on a in Qatar lovewear belt. And Frits pays any fine! In cash!
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of November 5, 2022