SKULDUGGERY IS HARD WORK

IT’S not only politicians who practise the art of deception.

We’ve become so used to being deceived in all our daily dealings that I suspect our universities must be offering bachelors’ degrees in Sleight of Hand (with extra credits for skulduggery).

I can’t even work out the prices of the groceries I buy at my local supermarket these days.

It used to need a quick glance at the price tag to know those carrots cost R10 a kilo.

Now it’s not as simple as that. Today if you buy two kilos of carrots for R9.99 a kilo (while the special Purple Tuesday offer lasts) you get a third kilo “completely free”, plus you stand a chance of winning a share of a billion Bodabucks and a thousand Bitcoins.

By the time you’ve put those carrots in your shopping bag you have no idea what they’ve actually cost you.

Should you include the possibility of winning those Bodabucks in the value of your carrots?

One of the obvious advantages of a good deception is that it’s no longer possible to compare the prices at various shops.

Is that three-for-the-price-of-two offer at Megaveg a better deal than Supershop’s buy-a-kilo-of-carrots-andget-a-cucumber-free deal?

It takes a special sort of mathematical skill to calculate the value of a free cucumber in terms of carrot weight. And how do you calculate the VAT to be paid on a free cucumber?

Of course the whole point of all this is to turn your grocery shopping into a kind of fairyland gambling game. You’re not shopping. Shopping is boring.

You’re playing games. You went into the shop to buy carrots and you emerged grinning with goofy anticipation at the prospect of winning a fictitious fortune in a currency that doesn’t actually exist.

It’s a wonderful world out there and the government promises us they’re developing new technologies to generate clean electricity using the airflow from the beating of angels’ wings.

And of course we believe that because we respect the qualifications of our politicians.

It takes hard work and dedication to earn a Master’s degree in deception (majoring in skulduggery).

Last Laugh

Fred was a very irritating neighbour, always wanting to borrow items from the people who lived around him and never returning them in good condition. One Saturday morning he leaned over the neighbour’s garden fence and asked: “Will you be using your lawn mower this afternoon, Joe?”

“Yes,” said Joe firmly.

“I’m afraid I will.”

“Oh good,” said Fred, “then you won’t be using your tennis racket. May I borrow it please? Mine has a broken string.”