Avid industry watchers like Spigot remain amazed at how often the core product of our industry is mispronounced by the very folks that are peddling it.
Recently a smallish local oil company expressed a sudden and urgent need to expand its Fischer-Tropff horizons. Executives have been seen cruising the dosh-awash backwater dorps of the maize triangle making deals for next years’ (dubious) crop. The price? Don’t ask us. Ask the chicken farmers what they are paying for feed these days. And ask the beer guys what is happening to the price of their brew.
Men in dark suits, designer Mr. Price two-tones and Grasshoppers haggling over mealie stalks are not an edifying sight to the rest of us in suit alley. Are these the same PAPS (Previously Advantaged Persons) seen sporting traditional Shangaan gear (Sasko baggie shirts, Goodyear tyre sandals, Okapi blades and earings) who were overheard discussing soya futures over a pot of frothy umqomboti with Mr. Sputnik Lobengula, a largish lowveld HDSA pulse and peanut farmer?.
But back to pronunciation. A newish senior executive director from this same company has for years been the butt of jokes because he has trouble pronouncing the product he sells.
Is his company going to be the first biofool producer that can get more than 500 L ethanol a month out of their new fool distillery?
And will he be the first to fill up with mielievoomafool and get his warranty trashed by those nice guys from East London who invented the Fischer-Tropff process in the first place?
No comments:
Post a Comment