He only had a very small role, the man who appeared on Monday evening Radar (AVROTROS) presenter Fons Hendriks sped by in a white golf cart. He was on screen for seven, eight seconds at most and then unrecognizable, with a gray oval over his unhelpful head. And yet he effortlessly formed the highlight of the broadcast when he lunged hard at the Radar presenter, his polite “Sir, may I ask you something?” answered with a cheerful “No” as he passed by, and then quickly zoomed out of sight again, straight through the closed Prinsenmeer holiday park.
A memorable example of maladaptive behavior. But Hendriks hadn’t come to the park to expose unapproachable men in golf carts – he was there to grill the boss of Prinsenmeer (and the other eight parks that fall under the Oostappen Group) about the way holidaymakers were being shortchanged. who had already prepaid for a spot at the park campsite. At the end of last year, the municipality of Asten withdrew the park’s operating permit due to suspicions that Prinsenmeer was being used for criminal purposes. The park closed its doors, the prospective campers could go to their already booked holiday.
What was salient about the case was the star status of the (now resigned) boss of the Oostappen Group: Peter Gillis. The Brabant millionaire has made himself popular with the reality series since the summer of 2020 Mass is cash register (Talpa), which showed how Peter frequently ran his parks shouting “hatseflats”. Peter himself remained unreachable on Monday evening, but eventually one of his children spoke to Hendriks: daughter Inge, who temporarily took over the affairs. A new operator had been found, she emphasized; it was now in discussions with the municipality about a possible reopening. Customer complaints would be considered individually. That took time. How much time? She didn’t know that.
In the Van Dale
Falling off your pedestal is never pleasant, but the Gillis family can at least take comfort in the fact that they stood on one in the first place. Things turned out differently for one of the first reality star families, the Tokkie family: they were the target of public ridicule from the start and were even able to find their own surname in the Van Dale for a while as a word for antisocial person. Now, twenty years after the reality series about the controversial family and their neighborhood disputes appeared on SBS6, the Tokkies want reparation: a new documentary will be released next week, they said last weekend in an interview with the A.D.
The news filtered through to other media on Monday. In the stream of well-known accusations against the family – vulgar, money-hungry, etc. – that filled the comment sections, one comment stood out on NU.nl in which the Tokkies were labeled as “beautiful role models, beyond shame.” Becoming just like the Tokkie family was an unattainable ideal, the response stated. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be inspired by it.”
And although that mini-ode to maladaptive behavior sounded more ironic than heartfelt, it probably explained the pleasure I got from the seven or eight seconds of the Radarepisode that I watched again and again. Because I admit: if I had a little less shame, I would be happy to say a difficult-sounding “Can I ask something?” once in a while. answer with a cheerful “No.” And above all, don’t linger to see the surprise in the eyes of the questioner. I would just keep going, keep going, I would. Until my golf cart disappeared from view.
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