Dear Woolworths

I go to Woolworths. It doesn't end well.

Text reads:

Dear Woolworths,

I am an aspiring novelist. For years now, I have been obsessed by human emotions – particularly feelings like sadness, depression and disappointment. Whether it’s the unforgettable angst of Post-Modernist greats like Paul Auster, the protagonist-destroying genius of Thomas Hardy, or even the lost ideals and broken dreams of dystopian wastelands by seminal thinkers like George Orwell, I’ve been dreaming of writing the saddest, most depressing tragedy of our time.

Which is why I’m writing to you.

“But what does sadness have to do with Woolies?” I hear you ask yourself. “We’re just a food company that provides South African customers with high-quality food and other such luxury goods!”

Well, let me explain.

You see, when I was a silly university student, I thought that true depression and disappointment had to come from life-changing, moving experiences that would haunt you until the day you die: the death of a parent; being forcibly drafted to fight in an unjust war and slowly losing your mind through the trauma of the daily horrors of the battlefield; getting an iPhone for Christmas and seeing it’s only the 16gb white 4S instead of the 64gb Black 5C.

But recently I’ve realised that you can experience these soul-emptying horrors just by going down to your local Woolies.

But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. This email starts as many emails to you, I’m sure, do: with a trip to my local Woolies.

You see, I had high hopes. Huge dreams. A childlike naïveté that we see only in Masterpieces of incomprehensible literary significance.

All I wanted was to buy a simple lunch for the weekend. My hopes weren’t complex or unrealistic: to start with, I’d have an organic, preservative- and chemical-free salad (maybe some rocket and iceberg lettuce with imported Italian tomatoes and extra-virgin Olive oil) and then move onto some fresh, imported Finnish Ocean Salmon on a bed of steamed locally-sourced new potatoes and authentic farm butter, and finally, to end, free-range farm-fresh Ayrshire double cream with organic, hand-picked, and ethically-sourced non-GMO strawberries.

I’m a simple man, of simple tastes, as you can see.

Little did I know that Woolworths are the authors of devastating reality. Like a wide-eyed child straying uncomprehendingly into the Valley of the Shadow of death, so was I totally unaware of the three-tonne metaphorical hammer of cold, jarring truth that would soon come smashing into my hopeless dreams. My face was a Christmas tree of joy and smiles. Optimism and hope traced every word and thought I had. And it was not to last.

And then I went to the salad aisle.

There was no rocket. None at all. Worse still, the lettuce wasn’t Iceberg lettuce, but the far less crispy and delectably sweet Mountain Blue. Then, to add insult to injury, the only olive oil you had was “Imported Virgin olive oil”. No ‘extra-virgin’. None at all. I had walked on the precipice of the void, and the abys had noticed me: its dark, ugly eye cracked open a peep, that glaring, festering red and orange iris of pure evil turned its devilish gaze on my childlike innocence.

Thinking that perhaps this was just a once off, I went to the next aisle. ‘Oh well,’ I thought, completely unaware of the yawning chasm of disappointment that awaits all men, ‘as long as my lunch isn’t spoilt.’

All writers are periodically struck with writer’s block, and this is one of those times. How do I convey even half the… the… *horror* I felt when I saw that all you had was Norwegian fresh-river trout? How do I put across to you the magnitude of soul-wrenching tragedy of seeing only Jacket Potatoes? How do I find the words that accurately sum up the disgust and disillusionment that moved me to thoughts of suicide when I saw that instead of real butter all you had was butter-identical spread?

It was at that moment I realised there is no god. Life is a journey of suffering and loneliness and disappointment. As children, we are wrongfully raised by our parents to believe there is some justice and fairness in the world. I now see that both my parents are liars and deceivers of the worst kind and deserve the eternal nothingness that will greet us all when we are lying on our death beds, cold, lonely and utterly terrified of the coming darkness.

I mean, your strawberries weren't even organic, and neither was the cream. Worse yet, when I thought that perhaps I could salvage some of my childish dying hopes and wonderment by having perhaps organic blueberries instead, you were all out. That was when I realised that the Bible is a meaningless tome replete with falsehoods designed to make us think the world is some kind of a wonderful, lovely place instead of the desolate hellhole it really is. “I looked into the abyss, and the abyss looked back.”

And so, after all this, I just want to ask you how you did it. Was it planned? Did you meticulously plan each incredible, Post-Modern step of this shopping experience, or was it just sheer luck? Did a team of writers collaborate on this amazing feat of Golden-Era-Pastoralist-Value-smashing stream of consciousness? How did you know that my keen, intense desire to feast on luxury goods - when coupled with the overwhelming disappointment of having to, eugh, *settle for less* - would produce such deadly melancholy?

Would your team of genii artists perhaps be interested in writing a joint-authored novel that makes Sartre’s Nauseum look like a colourful, light-hearted children’s book filled with smiles, bunnies and rainbows?

I wept when I watched your new Asimbonanga advert on Youtube – perhaps even as hard as I wept when I held the bottle of cream and saw it hadn’t been locally sourced.

How can I make my readers feel even a tenth of the despair you’ve inflicted on me?

Yours in faith and mad hope,

Matthew de Klerk

Author, poet, chasm-gazer, Smartshopper

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UPDATE: 28/01/14 - Woolworths tweets and emails me back.

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UPDATE: My "primary psychological caregiver" replies

Text reads:

Dear Ms Jaftha,

My name is Dr Johan Van Eksteen and I am Mr de Klerk’s primary psychological caregiver.

I am sorry to have to be the one to inform you of this, but yesterday at approximately 4pm, Mr de Klerk fell into a deep bout of insanity. Yesterday he was found in his home curled into the foetal position holding a jar of non-imported Italian tomatoes muttering the words “contains preservatives” over and over again. We here at the South African Therapeutic Intervention and Restitution Emergency Psychological Care Ward are giving him all the best care and treatment.

Details at this point are sketchy, but we’re in the process of piecing together the chain of events that led to my patient’s total and utter loss of connection with the real world. At this moment, all we know is that he went into his local Woolworth’s with the desire to buy Imported Norwegian Salmon, a delightful salad, and a delectable desert.

Now, again, details are not clear, but what we have gathered from eye witness reports is that he – and several other shoppers, who we were lucky enough catch and give early treatment – had to instead buy Finnish River Trout. We’re not sure what sort of depraved animals you have running the store (I mean, what kind of sicko makes us stoop to buying something else when stock runs out?) but rest assured we will get to the bottom of this.

If these allegations are correct – if it’s true that you did not have farm fresh Ayrshire double cream and forced your customers to buy the canned Clover stuff, that you inflicted upon our clients the grievous trauma of having to, *eugh*, settle for a generic brand of spaghetti instead of the Nice Stuff That Comes In The Pretty Black Packet – then we will take this injustice to the highest court possible. We cannot idly stand by when fascist food outlets like you are denying innocent South Africans their basic Human Right to Imported, non-GMO, non-gluten, ethically-sourced, Organic lettuce.

I’m sorry, I have to go. Mr de Klerk has just found out we serve generic brand fruit juice and not Woolworths ™ 100% Pressed Organic Cherries and Berries and he’s trashing the canteen.

Dr Johan Van Eksteen

Clinical Psychologist and Chief Caregiver.
S.A.T.I.R.E. Psychological Care Ward, Pretoria, Gauteng

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UPDATE 30/01/14 - Woolworths replies to Dr Van Eksteen

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UPDATE - Dr Van Eksteen succumbs to the disease; Detective Paul E. Snyman of the Police Force has to step in.

Text reads:

Dear Ms Jaftha,

Things have gotten quite serious this side. Unfortunately, Dr Johan Van Eksteen is unavailable to reply your email - but more on that in a moment.

My name is Detective Paul E. Snyman and I am the chief investigative officer who heads the South African Local Crimes Divisions' Crimes Against Humanity Bureau. You may be unfamiliar with the work we do, but basically we deal with serious allegations of human rights infringements. When a man has been wrongfully arrested, we are there. When a mad dictator enacts war crimes against a rival tribal group, we're on the case. And sadly - as I'm sure you know by now - when an innocent, decent, law-abiding South African man is forced to use Woolworth's Free Range 1% Milk on his muesli instead of being free to exercise his god-given, constitutionally upheld basic right to Fat Free non-organic anti-GMO certified cream, we have to step in.

Now, details are sketchy, but we're sorry to say that Dr Van Eksteen, too, has gone mad. According to the medical records our team has pulled from the S.A.T.I.R Emergency Psych Care Ward in Pretoria, Mr De Klerk (the original complainant in this fiasco) slipped into a deep state of trauma sometime on Wednesday afternoon after a shopping trip to the Wolworths store in the Seapoint St Johns shopping centre. First respondents and medical tests have since confirmed he is suffering a reasonably common psychological phenomena in cases like these: a debilitating depression and sadness, often characterised by unnecessary vocal outrage and anger, which usually comes in the form of asking to see your manager and saying "ag" and "unbelievable" a lot while you tap your foot and scowl over your handbag at cashiers.

This syndrome - which usually affects white women in their mid-forties - is known only as Furst-Wuurld Syndrome.

Mr De Klerk did not respond to any treatment. Doctors tried everything - Woolies Original deep-fried tempura rock shrimp on a bed of steamed rice; a fresh summer salad with lentils and spring onion served with a side of avocado mash and balsamic reduction - but nothing could coax him out of his mad stupor or lessen the effects of Furst-Wuurld Syndrome. Finally, exasperated and on the brink of giving up all hope, Dr Van Eksteen decided to try a radical treatment that had only been recently tested in clinical trials.

You see, he had read somewhere that the delicious taste of Woolworth's 600g Prime-smoked Pork Side Rib, perhaps basted in a rich honey-mustard glaze and served alongside a bed of roast organic peppers and imported Mediterranean vegetables, accompanied (of course) with a bottle of 2008 Vergeleugen Old Cellar Merlot, might just snap him out of it. It was a crazy shot, but it's was their last chance to restore fairness and balance to a sick and unjust society.

Little did he know the dark, unspeakable horrors that awaited him.

He went to the the Woolies in the Sandton Centre, and all you had was the 400g Shoulder Rib. Worse yet, it wasn't certified antibiotic free, and instead of a tasty glaze your insidious, hateful staff could only offer a generic meat marinade.

marinade! For shame. Does your insane depravity know no bounds?

By the time Dr Van Eksteen had reached the wines aisle and saw that you only had the 2009 Chardonnay in stock, and that he'd have to wait up to 5 minutes while the clerk checked the storeroom, it was too late. The early symptoms of FWS had sunk in - immediately evident in him updating his Twitter feed to say "OMG @Woolworths just ran out of the Merlot I wanted #ag #unbelieveable #injustice" and loudly exclaiming that this bloody happens all the bloody time why can't you people just do your jobs all I wanted was to have a nice meal and now what must I do now flippen starve.

Although he was quick to take early counter-measures - such as Googling images of starving children in Darfur to remind himself of the plane of reality he was slowly losing his grasp one - it was in vain. Dr Van Eksteen quickly succumbed to the same illness that claimed Mr De Klerk.

We have of course, quarantined the two men, but we strongly recommend handing out free samples of your Tapas and finger snacks as an immediate precautionary inoculation measure to prevent a possible epidemic. Who knows how many customers have had to buy a Mega instead of a Magnum ice cream because of your blatant and perfidious misjudgement?

Currently, no one is pressing any charges but we expect prompt and full action on your part. This tragedy must never be forgotten, and never, ever again be repeated.

#FWS #NeverForget #BlackWednesday

Yours in all faith,

P.E Snyman,
S.A.L.C.D, Crimes against Humanity Bureau
Pretoria