Dear Customer Relations – The World's Best Funny Complaint Letters
18May/130

Apple: Let’s Piss Away a Billion Dollars Together



 

Apple ComplaintThis week, I made the grave mistake of updating the software on my iPhone.  Just like last time, the Bluetooth in my car could no longer see the phone.  That made me rather cross...

Mr. Tim Cook
CEO
Apple
1 Infinite Loop,
Cupertino,
CA 95014,
United States

And by email to tcook@apple.com

Dear Tim,

I love my iPhone.  I’m pretty crazy about my iPad too. 

I work in the design business so I truly appreciate the flawless combination of cutting edge technology and sublime aesthetics.  Apple products genuinely have set a new benchmark for product design. 

However,  iTunes is a crock of shit Tim. 

I used to get better software on the 3½“ floppy disks stuck to the front of the early PC Magazines back in the days when a 48Mb hard drive was as cool as penguin piss.  There are an awful lot of awful things I despise about iTunes but the thing I hate the most are the iPhone software updates.  They are the inflatable dartboard of the software world.  The chocolate teapot of programming.

The other day, it just so happens that I was trying to get some photographs off my iPhone onto my laptop.  No matter how I tried, Explorer and My Computer could not see the iPhone.  So, I started iTunes and it informed me that my phone needed updating.  I naturally figured that this could be the source of the problem and so reluctantly clicked on the horrid little button.

To my initial delight, it worked.  Everything was absolutely fine until I tried to use the iPhone in my car.  As far as the car was concerned Tim, my iPhone had simply disappeared.  The laptop could see the phone as clear as day.  The car was now as blind as a bat.

What gives you the right, Tim, to change the software so that my BMW voice-activated Bluetooth no longer talks to my iPhone?  There wasn’t anything wrong with the Bluetooth, so why the hell did you change it?  Why did you fix something that wasn't broken?  Why did you dick around with it?  WHY?

Do you know how much it costs to update the Bluetooth software in a BMW Tim?  Do you?

Well, as of this morning, it cost £100.00 (including VAT).  That’s $154 Tim.  And that’s actually gone down in price.  The last time you fu#@ed up my Bluetooth, it cost me £147 ($226).

But it’s not just me is it, Tim?

BMW sold 1.54 million[1] out of a global total of 60 million cars sold last year.  So, on that basis, 2.6% of the cars in the world are BMWs.  As there are over 1 billion cars on the planet, that means there are at least 26 million BMWs.  Let’s say for the sake of argument that just 30% of those are fitted with Bluetooth (although it’s probably far more than that). 

So, we have at least 7.8 million BMW drivers with Bluetooth.  Given that your share of the global smartphone market is 18.2% and it is reasonably safe to assume that if you can afford a BMW with Bluetooth, you're also going to have a smartphone, it follows that you have seriously pissed off just over 1.4 million people!

If each of these is paying an average of $154 to fix the problem you created, then you have forced your customers to squander more than $215 million.  TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN MILLION DOLLARS TIM!

And that’s just the BMW drivers.  If we add in the Minis, the Mercedes, the Lexuses, the Range Rovers, the Jaguars and, who knows, even a few American cars, you have caused the pissing away of BILLIONS OF DOLLARS!

Damn it all Tim, that’s even more than you earn!

And that’s just scratching the surface.  Imagine if you add in all the downtime.

This week, I have had to drive to Bath and Glasgow.  For your information Tim, those places are at opposite ends of our little island[2] and each of them is a four hour drive away from my home.  So that’s two round trips of eight hours or 16 hours in total.  The reason that I paid BMW’s obscene premium to have the hands-free Bluetooth in the first place was so that I could make calls whilst on long journeys such as this.  Ordinarily, I would spend most of my time on the phone in connection with my business.  As I have already said, I work in the design business and I’m actually pretty good at my job. Let’s say that my time is conservatively worth $300 per hour and I would have spent just half my time productively on the phone. 

That’s another $2,400 you owe me Tim – plus a couple of hours to go and get the bloody software upgrade done in the first place so that makes it a round $3,000 in downtime.

Then there’s the loss of productivity back at the office because my team couldn’t get hold of me.  We’ve got 18 highly skilled design staff back at the ranch and several of them were unable to get their work done because I was unavailable for 16 hours.  Estimated cost to our business - $8,000.

I appreciate that I represent just 6.76x10-10 of your global market share, [3] but you’re a very clever guy and clever guys listen to their customers.  So, stop messing with the Bluetooth every time you update the phone software.  Get iTunes replaced with a half decent piece of software. Stop pissing off the people whose money you take home every month.  If you don’t, that stock price is only going one way.

In the meantime, you owe me $11,154.  You can make your cheque[4] payable to me and remit it to the address at the head of the snail mail copy of this letter.

Sincerely,

 

Anthony Matthews

 



[1] Not counting all those Minis
[2] The UK, in case you hadn’t guessed by now.
[3] A 1.48 billionth in scientific notation.  I looked it up on Wikipedia.  Apparently, there are around 1.48 billion iPhones in the world. 
[4] US: Check; UK: Cheque

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15May/130

Nestle: May the Spooge be With You



spoogeThis letter was submitted by Jen Bridges, author of the highly original OfHerbsAndAltars Blog (link in sidebar for those who are not easily offended).  This is one of Jen's less unusual letters and it received a great reply from Nestlé:

 

“Dear Minion to Nestlé,

I write to you today, regarding your ‘Ski Lemon Mousse’. I saw the packaging and thought, ‘Mmm, lemon mousse, well that sounds very nice indeed!’ I gaily tossed one into my basket, then thought ‘What the hell – I shall go wild and buy two packages, for where could I ever go wrong with something so wonderful as a lemon mousse’. So, I survived the Easter Saturday till-scrum, and skipped joyfully home with my purchases. On arrival, I gleefully whipped the top from said mousse. Oh dear, I said to myself sadly, surveying the deflated spooge inside. It was a sickly shade, akin to the spongey yellow skin of a drained corpse. I stuck my spoon into it, and it only got worse. Around the outside, there was a strange, dribbly secretion , resembling some kind of unpleasant mucus. And think yourself lucky, dear reader, for this is the less explicit metaphor I could have used. But, I thought, come now – one should not judge a book by its cover, beauty is in the eye of the beholder! So I took one giant leap for mankind, and put the spoon in my mouth… It tasted, dear reader, like crap. Now, as you realise, I would prefer to use a flowery, poetic metaphor – a one word description cannot build a full picture, I feel! But sadly, the only word that suffices, is crap. The texture was something akin to polly filler, a sort of unpleasant, shrivelling squidge.

On the pot, I see gleaming, juicy, Sicilian lemons, against a backdrop of bright blue sky – warmth, promise, beauty! Oh, cruel world that you are, to offer such promise, and deliver such spooge.

I survey the pot, morbidly curious about this nemesis, this cruel demon that has cast so much misery into my path. I see it describes the aforementioned mucus as ‘meringue style sauce’. Oh deary me. I delve into my pot, searching for answers. The mucus bubbles wetly, pooling beneath the frothy spittle of the spooge, resembling nothing more than stale urine.

I could go on, waxing poetical about the Jism of Beelzebub that is the Ski Lemon Mousse. I am tempted to go on a conquest of tasting, sampling the others flavours of Ski Mousse, mayhaps sending you a cheerful communication on the subject of each. But I won’t. I have things to do, like sitting down. But I feel you needed to know, dear reader – the truth is out. It is within you now, like a hookworm, wriggling as it burrows into your stomach lining. You have the truth – what you choose to do with it is up to you. Are you up to the challenge, brave warrior, of single handedly toppling the evil Ski Mousse Empire, armed with this burning sword of truth?

Fare thee well, little crusader. May the spooge be with you.

Samuel

(Gratefully hijacking this email address. I don’t have one – ghastly things. I do rather like Youtube though…)”

 And Nestlé's reply: 

“Dear Samuel

Thank you for getting in touch about our Ski Lemon Mousse.

We were of course very surprised and disappointed to hear that our popular and yummy dessert was so unappreciated by your clearly very refined palette.

Of course we appreciate that every man, woman and child cannot enjoy all of our products and taste in food is very much subjective, but we also appreciate the honest and articulate feedback that you have given us. We will of course pass this on to our colleagues in the marketing and brand teams so that they may feast on the veritable banquet of storytelling that you have bequeathed unto us.

Thank you once again for taking the trouble to contact us, especially after such a trying ordeal. I hope you feel assured that your so-called “burning sword of truth” has been plunged into the very heart of the Ski Mousse empire.

May the spooge also be with you.

Yours sincerely

Paul Jones
Consumer Relations Executive
Consumer Services”

 

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24Apr/130

Westin Gourmet: Bill’s Beef Beef



 

Westin Gourmet American SteakDCR's good friend and contributor Father Bill Haymaker has sent in a letter we can all relate to.  Bill spent the best part of half an hour waiting for someone at Westin Gourmet to answer his telephone call.  All he wanted to do was order some genuine American steaks.  Being a patient man, he waited and he waited, and he got to wondering why those nice people at Westin Gourmet were too busy to answer the phone.....

Dear Customer Relations,

The clock on my computer has now indicated that it is 09:21, on the 15th of April. This means I have wracked up twenty-one minutes of a national call on my BT bill in trying to reach your Westin Gourmet Customer 'Service' number, in order to make a purchase of some quality steaks.

A recording on your customer 'service' line instructs me to 'hold', and I'll certainly be taken care of as soon as possible.

And as the clock passes the 09:23 mark, much to my surprise, the number for your corporate headquarters 0115 979 8418, presents a similar recorded message, stating that I should 'hold.  But as we gallop past the 09:26 point in time, the two phone lines I'm sitting on, patiently listening to, reflect nothing other than dead air.  No sound, whatsoever, no lift style music, no chirping birds, not even repetitive, mind-numbing solicitations,  emits from your customer 'service' number. And no sound emits from your 'administration number.  Just dead air!

As I patiently sit here, waiting, it leads me to consider some reasons why you may not be answering the phone:

1. You've arrived at work, shocked to discover the bailiff's have arrived and they've restricted you or your employee's access to the premises.

2. After a rousing weekend of merriment and sing-song of Wizard of Oz music, relating to the passing of Margaret Thatcher, your entire team are nursing severe hangovers, and a few bruises from the police.

3. The industrial park in Nottingham has suffered a tragic and  unexpected meteorite, along the lines of the recent one in Russia, where your windows have been blasted out and you and your staff are stone deaf and unable to hear the phones ring.

4. Or perhaps the most tragic possibility of all; you've established a witty and effective marketing strategy to entice a growing customer base, but somehow have failed to recognise the importance of backing up what you're marketing, and insuring that when you advertise that you're open, that you indeed are, that you possess the sufficient number of staff to support your call volume, and that each of you, from the first point of contact, all the way up to your good self, recognise your core objective and commitment to quality customer service.  Otherwise, why bother showing up?

I'm afraid that without effective tools to support your marketing strategy, all may become as sluggish as a blocked colon, due to a steady diet of hormone injected american beef!

In any event, I'm delighted to say that after 28 minutes, a paragon of loveliness, virtue, and company dedication, named Suzanne, was either able to scramble through all the collapsed building rubble, run a diversion route past the bailiff's, or escape the clutches of a few of those naughty, slippery-handed, middle-management lads, and get to the phone to answer my call.

Even the contemptible, nine circles of hell, abomination known as British Telecom, are able to answer the phone in less than a half-hour; even if the call is transferred to a shanty in the slums of Bangalore. So it leads me to wonder, why can't a small business in Nottingham beat that pathetic benchmark?

Kudos to Suzanne's dulcet tones and professionalism. I was next expecting to have the call disconnected altogether, or be transferred to someone in Jamaica selling PPI recovery services!

Imagine, all that just to purchase a couple of US Choice steaks! I normally don't waste so much time on anything less than US Prime!

Shame on you!

Father Bill Haymaker, CJ

 

To their credit, Westin Gourmet responded in good grace:

Hi Father Bill Haymaker, 

Sorry for the delay in answering your call, we have several members of the team ill today and this is obviously causing a backlog.  I appreciate your patience and do hope you enjoy your steaks. Your e-mail was an amusing way of identifying quite a real problem. We are a small business growing, so unfortunately when a few members of team are not here – it does cause issues.  Thanks for pointing this out.

Regards,

Darren Beale

Director
for Delicious Marketing Group

http://www.deliciousmarketinggroup.com/

www.WestinGourmet.co.uk

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7Apr/130

CrossCountry Trains: The 14:07 from Manchester to Hell



crosscountryDCR is grateful to Dennis Snape for sending us his letter to CrossCountry Trains. It appears that Dennis was not entirely satisfied with every aspect of his recent rail journey from Manchester.  Actually, Dennis wasn't satisfied with ANY aspect of his rail journey.  Dennis thought he was heading to Bristol but actually, he was going to Hell....

Dear Customer Relations,

Now stick with me on this one because its a cracker. On Thursday 5th April 2013 I arrived at Manchester Piccadilly Station (or Broadmoor as it's known locally). I was booked on one of your services to Bristol.  It was the 14:07.  Getting to the train was a challenge due to the useless Network Rail staff.  At one point, I even considered asking a pigeon where my train was.

Finally, after navigating through 6 walking abortions (youths I beleive they call them) I managed to get to Platform 4 although my train was at the bottom end so by the time I got there I'd already walked halfway to Stockport.  I was even going to stand at the top of the platform to see if anyone would sponser me for a charity walk down to the train.

I now understand why you call your company Crosscountry because when I boarded the train it resembled a small field.  The carpet looked like it had been cleaned with 7 angry pitbulls and then glossed over with Giraffe shit.

I only had a small suitcase but some kind person had decided to smuggle 14 Romanian immigrants in his luggage and stacked the 5 suitcases (which were the same size as a small village) at each end of the train  Thankfully, one of the train cleaners at Manchester helped me locate a safe place for my suitcase.  The train manager made some sort of annoucement, but your PA system was so poor it sounded like someone having a fight and an orgasm at the same time.  Eventually though,  the train departed and surely I thought my day could not get any worse.

But I was wrong.

I had someone opposite me talking on his phone so loud it sounded like a shit radio show, and there were 2 throwbacks behind me who kept kicking the back of my seat with the same force as a small meteorite. I bought a cup of coffee from the onboard shop and only had to re-mortgage my house to afford it.   However, when I drank the coffee I was far from impressed.   I can only imagine that it was the same cup used to change the train's oil filter earlier that day.  I also purchased a biscuit which slowly dissintergrated when I opened the wrapper.  No doubt the onboard staff had decided to play a 5 a side football match with it.

I then had the the pleasure of your onboard toilet, which was so badly flooded I thought it was a wet room.  May I suggest that you put life jackets on the wall just in case anyone drowns in there.  The toilet paper instantly evaporated as soon as it came into contact with anything solid - in this case my hands and the mirror was so badly damaged it looked like I'd had a minor stroke.  When I flushed the toilet it was so loud I thought a black hole had formed and was going to slowly suck the whole world into it.

I eventually walked back to my seat although the aisleway was so narrow that 4 people had there face's smashed in by my elbow.  Then I found that the reservation system had decided to work and my seat was now reserved.  I left my case in the carriage as I was now developing depression and I walked throughout the train trying to find a seat.  Could this seat  be reserved?  Reserved from somewhere that didn't even exist?  Iit had now turned into a crap gameshow but eventually i found a seat and once I had dislocated both my legs to fit into it, I had a wonderful view of a coffee splatterted plastic wall.  At one point, I even found myself counting the coffee spots.

Eventually I approached my destination,  popped my legs back into their sockets and went to fetch my case.  Getting to it developed into yet another challenge as someone thought it would be a fantastic idea to park a pram the size as a ford focus diagonally across the aisle way, but finally, I got my case and ended possibily the worse journey I've ever had.  May i suggest that if Scotland Yard ever want to torture terrorrist suspects, they simply threaten them with one of your train journeys.  They'll be sure to spill the beans.

So, thats all I've got to say and i wont be using your service again.  I'm even considering starting a petition to get the word TRAIN removed from the dictionary.

I look forward to your reply which I magine will be at least 3 years away.

Thank You.
Dennis Snape

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10Feb/130

Glorious Foods – Oodles of Noodles?



Glorious Foods New York Chicken Noodle SoupThis latest letter was contributed by Father Bill Haymaker.  Father Bill is from East Sussex and he does wonderful work supporting the victims of child trafficking in Eastern Europe.  Take some time out to check out his work at www.ProjectNewLife.org.

Bill's letter was sent to The Glorious Foods Company, a well known manufacturer of soups that are rather more expensive than your average soup.  It seems that his carton of New York Chicken Noodle Soup not only failed to deliver oodles of noodles but also failed to constitute any threat to the UK chicken population....

Message:  26 Jan, 2013

To the Glorious Foods Company

Re: Glorious “New York Chicken Noodle Soup”

Code: 14FEB (F6) 09:36

 Dear Friends

I doubt under general conditions that I would bother writing you, but because I feel so utterly lousy right this moment, I know my senses are heightened. So, in advance, I apologise unreservedly for my crankiness and horrible attitude. But when I'm in intense pain, I take it out on my keyboard....and keys are flying off the board today. 

Following an event with my dentist that could only be visualised by Quentin Tarantino, I was in utter agony and desperate to get home and load myself up with copious quantities of drugs (mostly legal).

Heading home, I was eager to find something to ease the searing pain in my mouth, calm my stomach and salve my brain. My first inclination was to get some chicken broth and egg noodles and make a calming 'Jewish Penicillin" (in the New York tradition), soup. 

At my local Sainsbury’s, I happened across what I thought was manna from Heaven, a panacea in the midst of my agony, a rejoinder of pity from Yahweh, or the BVM herself!  There it was - illuminated- as if it were drawing me to it, a container of 'New York Chicken Noodle Soup.'

There could have been nothing better to sooth the savage beast within me to help nurture my suffering... Every Jewish Mother's answer to everything under the sun - from pimples, to Mrs Broskowizc's unmarried daughter, to a broken leg, to sitting Shiva!  And it was the prescription for anyone suffering from the death of a cold to a failed relationship - Chicken Noodle Soup. 

I needn't look any further. I grabbed the container, already imagining being at home, tucked into my bed with the covers pulled up, some pathetically droll show on BBC2 - Crustaceans Through History, and my bed tray containing my golden chicken broth, my warm noodles which I could just get by gumming on the other side of my mouth, and rich, torn strands of white and dark meat chicken. 

You can't imagine my utter shock when I finally got the vice grips to tear off the errant sealing seal and discovered the contents: no rich golden broth, no soothing noodles - just “Two.Point.Five” percent of barely noticeable thin strands of nothing, presented as 'noodles' that I could taste., and most surprising of all - NO chicken- not a scintilla! Sadly, in this recipe, all the chicken you could possibly use will never turn this abomination into 'New York' chicken noodle soup! 

New Yorker's are the epitome of 'read the label.'  I challenge you to show me a 'New Yorker' who would pass this stuff off as 'New York Chicken Noodle.'  Due to the diversity of New York, there are cultural mores which are simply a given and a New Yorker’s chicken soup is one of them.  New York Chicken Soup is sacrosanct!  It conjures up images of your auntie Edna in her kitchen, so large that she has never left the kitchen in 20 years – her life is cooking!  And she lives over a pot of chicken stock that’s on the hob 24/7!  And some of my Jewish friends have told me that to have ‘New York’ chicken noodle soup is to become an instant convert!  The noodles quickly manifest into matzo balls, but everything else is the same. 

I do have an idea for you, however: purchase a weekend return ticket to New York. Go to ANY deli in Manhattan, go to Dallas Barbeque on E 72nd, go to the Plaza Hotel, go to the Marriott at Times Square, go to Sylvia's in Harlem on Lenox – Go to the New York Diner - just go anywhere and let a New Yorker show you what 'New York Chicken Noodle' soup is! Please! Soon! 

To add insult to injury - this stuff tastes atrocious! Why leave us (The English) with the misconception that not only is New York Chicken Noodle Soup ghastly, but the recipe itself is hideous as well!

Shame on you! Shame on you! 

Perhaps you can enrol in your own competition for a weekend trip to New York, to see what Chicken Noodle Soup tastes like... you don't even need to go in to Manhattan!  Stay at Kennedy Airport and go to the local supermarket and buy a tin of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup.  At least, at least, they have the recipe right!  Or from the airport Marriott you can have a hearty bowl of ‘New York’ chicken noodle soup delivered to you via Room Service.  And finally, forget the airline ticket (was I getting you excited?), just go to the Marriott on the Bath Road at Heathrow and ask for a bowl of Chicken Noodle soup. It’s available 24/7 from Room Service, or in their restaurant ‘Allie’s American Grille.’ 

Now, it's time for my next morphine tablet. Just no flippin soup! 

If you'd like to see a photo of Chicken Noodle Soup à la New York, I'd be pleased to share some with you. I think I've taken photos of the past three Chicken Noodle Soups for the AllRecipes.com website.

I'm British and even I, a typical British male who knows sod-all about cooking, know how to make chicken noodle soup! Shame on you! 

I've just discovered my dog even hates it! The Venerable Mr Piddles has refused to touch it. Considering some of the things he's been guilty of eating in the past, this makes a rather strong statement!

I’ve left it to him to send his own comments. He’s far more balanced than I am at the moment as he has had no dental surgery! 

In summary, slapping a label on this tripe and calling it ‘New York Chicken Noodle Soup’ is about as effectual as slapping a label that says ‘Prime Minister’ on Gordon Brown.

 

Father Bill Haymaker+

www.DogDogma.Blogspot.com

PS.

Just an addendum to this glorious day of wasting time complaining about soup – twice now I’ve attempted to post my epistle to your ‘Happy Face’ collection of options. Right about this moment I’m wishing you had a punched in face option. It simply refuses to go beyond the ‘submit’ button. With a degree of trepidation I suspect it has to do with the length of my epistle. Unfortunately, as you’ve failed to tell customers that your contact box refuses to allow any messages over a thousand characters, or possibly messages that contain disparaging comments about soup you portray to be from New York! Mr Piddles suggested to me that it may have to do with the suggestions I had as to what you could do with this soup, but as I say, he’s far more balanced today. 

So I had the pleasure of speaking (twice) to a voice male (not to be confused with mail), who transferred me to a voice mail named ‘Dave,’ Provided Dave can get this little miracle of modern technology to work, I’ll spare him from suffering having to speak with me today about our little contretemps – it’s probably in his best interest anyway. 

For your own joy, I respectfully submit (one of countless) url’s for ‘New York’ Chicken Noodle Soup, as well as a photo of my own made-at-home ‘English Chicken Noodle Soup. They look suspiciously similar because they are! They’re New York Chicken Noodle soups!

http://www.tinynewyorkkitchen.com/chicken-noodle-soup/

Glorious Foods replied very promptly.  It seems that Father Bill's preferences were not in line with the Glorious Foods New York Chicken Noodle Soup flavour profile but no matter, Bill's concerns were being "communicated to the highest level" within the company.  So that's OK then.

 Glorious Foods Reply Letter

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<script

 
17Nov/120

A Nasty Case of the Willy Wonkas



exploding chocolate milkI spent ages trying to find a suitably disgusting picture to accompany this letter but alas, this was all I could find.  If anybody comes across a better one, please send it in.  

The letter was sent to me by novelist, Phil Williams, who also writes the entertaining Write Right Now blog.  It is addressed to Sainsburys and it concerns a rather dodgy bottle of cholcolate milk.....

 

Dear Customer Relations,

I am writing to you with a harrowing tale involving the purchase of one of your 1 litre bottles of fresh Chocolate Milk.

This was a tale I meant to tell yesterday, in a simplistic form detailing my horror at having discovered the milk had gone foul after one day (in fact on the 6th February, a day before its alleged use-by date of the 7th). This might seem a trivial matter, but it was shocking to slurp on a mouthful of mangled chunks of white goo when I had hoped for nothing less than smooth chocolaty delight.

In fact, I drunk perhaps more than I should have, in the vain hope that maybe I was imagining this monstrosity, in spite of friends pleading me to stop. It was only on the forcibly opposed testimony of a housemate I turned to for a second opinion that I finally laid the milk to rest, beside my bin, ready to be discarded. As I say, this was the tale I meant to tell, and I thought it frightening enough, but today things took a turn for the worse, in what could be described as nothing less than a life-threatening disaster!

I went out for the morning to attend to my daily duties and returned tired and worn, ready to catch some sleep after a trying late night before. When I came in, I instantly noticed that, despite the bitter cold wind outside, my room was a sauna from the sunshine. I opened windows and settled down to my computer, then glanced aside and spotted that wretched rotten milk. In the heat, I discovered it had mutated into something wholly unpleasant.

Hindsight screams at me that I should have taken a photo, for I am not sure that I can accurately describe what I saw, but I shall try. The base of the milk bottle contained a cloudy yellow liquid, separated from the rest to form something that resembled murky urine. Above that was a thin layer of a strange foam substance, and above that, filling the majority of the bottle, was the solidified remains of the chocolate milk. It had formed into a rancid network of chocolate tunnels, layered through the sludgy mess like a cave built out of mud. It was a fascinating sight that I marveled at, thinking to keep it to show others later in the day. How bizarre, that it should take such a form.

Little did I know, I was dicing with death when I left that bottle sat there.

Shortly after, I heard a hissing noise to my side. I did not react at first, maybe because I was tired, maybe because I thought it was coming from outside, maybe I just didn’t consider it a threat. Regardless, when I did finally turn my head on that bottle of milk I was met with a daunting sight. The hissing noise grew louder as white foam was fizzing out of the sides of the cap. Good heavens, thought I, it’s building up pressure, it’s going to blow!

I had to relieve it. I had to act fast. First lifting the bottle and turning the cap slightly, I found the hiss to increase and the foam to act violently. This bottle was solid in my grip, on breaking point. I wanted to release it gently, to let out the gas, but I was thankfully patient enough to allow the few seconds it took me to run to the sink first. So I aimed the bottle in, and I started to ease the cap around, desperately hoping I might relieve the pressure before it relieved itself.

This was not to be.

Tipping the bottle up to aim it into the sink, in the first instant my hands were drenched with the acidic yellow liquid from the bottom as it seeped out over the chocolate caves. Disgusted but undeterred, I tried to turn the cap the slightest amount.

The hissing grew further, the foaming more vicious. Then, against all my might, the bottle cap exploded off the top. It happened so fast it is perhaps best to explain through means of the aftermath: The solid chocolate mass was sprayed across the whole sink, resembling a sticky brown vomit, which had also coated one of my hands. The cap was nowhere to be seen. In one loud bang, the bottle had ejected over half a litre of chocolate milk gunk, with such ferocity that the cap had been propelled to god-knows-where, and my own hand was victim to the ghastly residue, the bottle rolling mournfully amongst the mess, thrown from my grip by the force of the blast.

Needless to say, this took me some time to clean up, and left me shaken. I got out of this unscathed, fortunately, although with a lingering smell of rotten milk now filling the air. I cannot help but wonder what might have happened if I was not here when the bottle started hissing. We can only speculate as to the horror that could have befallen the area surrounding that potent bottle. Further, on my return to the scene of the crime, having finally disposed of the bottle, I discovered something equally troubling. Where the bottle had sat, there was a damp patch and some traces of the rotten milk. Yes, it had seeped out of the base of the bottle somehow. That strange yellow liquid had melted through the bottle. That vile stain is yet to come up.

All this one day after its use by date. All this because the bottle was left out for a few hours in a warm room. No man should have to face this misery. It is a day that will live on in my mind for many years to come as the day that a bottle of chocolate milk threatened to turn on me in the most violent way milk can.

Yours Sincerely,

 

Phil Williams

Sainsburys relied as follows: 

Dear Mr Williams

Thank you for contacting us. I am sorry to hear that you were unhappy with the chocolate milk you bought from us recently. I can appreciate how upsetting it must have been for you when, as you have described in your letter, the bottle exploded.

As a food retailer, it is really important to us to make sure that everything we sell is enjoyable and above all, safe. We want our customers to be completely happy with everything they buy from us so we set very high standards. We check our suppliers are meeting those standards by visiting them regularly and quality checking their products. I am therefore sorry that we have let you down.

We take complaints like yours very seriously and our technologists would like to examine the chocolate milk packaging. If you still have the packaging it would be very helpful if you could return it to us. I have enclosed a prepaid envelope for your convenience. If you prefer, you can send the packaging to us by recorded delivery, to the above address. Please could you enclose a copy of this letter, this will help speed things along.

Thank you once again for taking the time to get in touch with us. We welcome any opportunity to make sure our products are of the highest quality. We will write to you as soon as the investigation is complete. We appreciate you giving us the chance to look into this for you.

Yours sincerely,

Stacey Holmes

Phil wasn't finished there though....

Dear Mrs Holmes,

I am writing in response to your response to my tale of exploding milk woe.

I am happy to hear of your concern, which I would have hoped for considering the vicarious nature of the disaster. However, I regret to inform you that I no longer have the bottle in my possession. It was when waiting to be disposed of that the chocolate milk made its attack, after all, so when things took that ugly turn I thought it best that I remove the bottle entirely. Into a large bin it was thrown, and subsequently I’m afraid our noble garbage men have carted it away.

I’m not sure if I mentioned or not that my camera has not been working recently, but I did try to take a picture or two on my phone after the event. Unfortunately, my phone is rather shoddy in its abilities, and the results are less than clear or, I would imagine, at all useful. Picture, if you will, a blurred brown mess, and that’s about all it shows. Whilst I realise this demonstrates something of a lack of foresight on my behalf, and without accurate investigation into the packaging I would doubt there is much hope of solving this sordid mystery, I should stress that the offensive object did carry with it a murky mess and a stench quite unbearable, so I could not hold onto it. I expect it is of little consolation, but in the action of ejecting its contents the bottle did lose much of its innards, which is a shame because the sight of its pre-explosion solidification and separation was an interesting one to behold.

The only possibility I could think of now would be to recreate the circumstances in which this happened, to try and encourage a second bottle to explode. However, I would hope that what happened was a freak occurrence, and simply leaving already rotten milk in a warm room for a few hours would not cause it to explode in such a fashion every time. You may be happy to know that the smell has finally left my room now, and the stain is all but removed from the carpet.

Thank you for your concern and expedient response.

Yours Sincerely,

Phil Williams

Bless Sainsburys, they replied again:

Dear Mr Williams

Thank you for your further letter. Although I do sympathise with you over what has happened, I did enjoy reading your letters.

I can quite understand that you did not save the packaging, in fact you make it sound as if an exorcist should have been called. I am sorry that you had such an unpleasant experience.

Please accept the enclosed voucher as a goodwill gesture in view of the inconvenience we have caused you. I hope you will be able to buy something you particularly enjoy the next time you shop with us.

I would like to thank you again for taking the time to write to us. The comments we receive from our customers are very important, as it is through them that we are able to identify areas where we need to make improvements.

Yours Sincerely,

Sue Oyns

Enclosed: £30.00 Voucher

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25Oct/122

Walkers Crinkles: A Crispy Atrocity



Walkers CrinklesThis email exchange with Walkers Crisps was submitted by Mark Jorgensen who has a number of other complaint letters on his his blog (link at the foot of this post).  It seems that Mark didn't think his bag of Crinkles was quite as full as it should have been:

From: Mark Jorgensen
To: consumer@walkers.co.uk
Subject: Walkers Crinkles

Dear Customer Relations,

Firstly I’d like to offer my congratulations on your longstanding excellence in the crisp game. Your salt and vinegar flavour has been my crisp of choice for as long as I can remember. They have added a sumptuous sandwich-enhancing crunch to many a lunchtime throughout the years.

However, I would like to raise an issue of immense concern. I’m not talking about the continued use of jug-eared smug merchant Linekar in your condescending television adverts (that meerkat makes Gary look like f**king Shaft so you’re excused by proxy), nor am I talking about the ‘zany’ Cajun squirrel farrago.

My issue concerns the attached photograph of a packet of your recent ‘crinkles’ range.

The keen-eyed amongst you may be able to just about make out the tiny island of crinkled crisps bashfully nestled amongst a vast expanse of foil wrapper.

I have long been interested in some of the more colourful collective nouns for various things, notably a romp of otters, a business of ferrets, a glob of Austrians, a git of bishops or a funk of vegans. This is, however, what I can only describe as a f**k you of crisps.

Please excuse my rather coarse language but that is earnestly the impression I got from this purchase.  An insult.  I’m a passionate man particularly when it comes to crisps.  I remember once a French exchange student tried to tell me the puerile Pom Bear is a vastly superior crisp to Walkers.  I defended your honour with what I can only describe as a devastatingly executed ‘bitchslap’.  I ’m not proud of my actions, my mother was furious and being about 4 years older than me, the crisp-daft Frenchman gave me a beating of unforgettable magnitude. But on principle, I stand by my convictions.

Despite my foolhardy defense of our fine British crisp-making heritage, the night I received the above it felt like the vast Walkers Corporation were some ghoulish Fagan-like character, flinging a thimble full of gruel in my general direction for having the audacity to pay 70p for a beloved snack (Before retiring to his private chambers with a gaggle of impressionably young cockney pickpockets).

Thankfully, this was in a bar where my motive for the crisps was simply to mop up alcohol, but next time I may not be so lucky. If this was a lunchtime treat, I very much doubt whether this meagre amount of crisps would have been sufficient to fill even the most conservatively sized sandwich.

This isn’t to detract from their quality - the crisps themselves were delicious. The crinkled crisp has often been a huge favourite of mine due to the explosive pockets of flavour encased within the grooves of each crisp.  McCoys have typically dominated this market since the demise of the once-loved Frisp, but yours are up there.

Quality is usually better than quantity in most walks of life but in crisps, a carefully observed balance is pivotal.

Take Discos for example. Their salt and vinegar range are delicious, but they might as well just put a small photograph of one crisp lazily dusted with flavouring. (Don’t even get me started on their so-called larger ‘Grab Bags’).

Again, it is with great regret that I contact you in this manner, as I am a staunch advocate of your brand, but I feel I must vent my crispy disgust at this atrocity.

I would therefore like to request the following –

-       An explanation of the quality control policies of your crinkle range.

-       Remuneration of the 70p I paid for the crisps.

-       A personalised apology from one of your brand ambassadors. i.e. Linekar, Lionel Ritchie or, preferably, a signed photograph of Charlotte Church[1] nakedly frolicking in a bath of crisps like a sexy Scrooge McDuck.

Thanks in advance and I look forward to hearing from you.

Mark Jorgensen


From: thurmaston.consumer@pepsico.com
To: Mark Jorgensen
Subject: Your Unique Reference Number is – 000471190A: Your Contact About Walkers Crinkles

Dear Mark

Thank you for your recent emails regarding your purchase of Walkers Crinkles. I am really sorry that it has taken so long for us to get back to you.

It’s really disappointing for us to learn that your Crinkles packet contained few crisps – all of our packets are filled to weight, and hence this packet should have topped 32g.

Sadly, without the pack coding, it is very difficult to fully investigate the nature of this complaint but we do appreciate that your purchase was not of the quality you’d expect from us. We have therefore, noted your feedback on this particular pack for our Plant Teams to review as part of their ongoing quality evaluations.

I do hope that you have no further concerns with any of our products, however, should this not be the case, we would appreciate your help in sending the unsatisfactory product back to us at the following Freepost address or please do not hesitate to call us on our freephone number 0800 274777.

WALKERS SNACK FOODS LIMITED
CUSTOMER SERVICES DEPARTMENT
FREEPOST LE4918
LEICESTER
LE4 5ZY

In the meantime, if you would like to let me have your full postal address I will be more than happy to send you out some Walkers vouchers, with my compliments (unfortunately the photograph of the lovely Charlotte Church isn’t so easy for me to arrange)

I look forward to hearing from you

Regards

Sue
Customer Services


From: Mark Jorgensen
To: consumer@walkers.co.uk
Subject: Your Unique Reference Number is – 000471190A: Your Contact About Walkers Crinkles

Hi Sue,
Thank you for the email and I accept your sincere apologies for the delay. I apologise for sending a secondary email, I can be a little impatient at times and I am trying to make sure I address this. But as my brother once said as a child impishly awaiting Christmas morning “if I’m patient I can’t have it NOW”.

I’m pleased that you will take on my feedback.  I would be loathed to think that collectively we couldn’t use this tragedy which has befallen me to ensure that no one else will suffer a paltry crisp fiasco in the future.  If your Plant Team does require any feedback/input regarding the quality procedures then I would be happy to offer this on a consultancy basis in exchange for either Charlotte Church, or a nominal fee of a pre-agreed quantity of crisps. Let me know anyway.

Thank you for your very kind offer of some vouchers (and your compliments, naturally), my address is -

Flat 3
XXXX

XXXX

XXX

Is there any room for negotiation on the Charlotte Church thing? I could contact her and request the picture and say that you said it was ok?

Crispy wishes,

Mark Jorgensen


From: thurmaston.consumer@pepsico.com
To: Mark Jorgensen
Subject: Your Unique Reference Number is – 000471190A: Your Contact About Walkers Crinkles

Dear Mark

Thank you for your recent email reply and for providing me with your address details.

I will be popping some Walkers vouchers into the post for you this evening – the amount of these will lend themselves more to be spent in a supermarket (maybe for a few multipacks of Crinkles?)

Spend them as you see fit and enjoy

Regards

Sue

Customer Services

P.s Incidentally the dictionary definition of impatience reads ‘intolerance of anything that thwarts, delays, or hinders’ – so not always a bad trait.

And still no luck with Charlotte.


 

[1] Charlotte Church is a voluptuous singer and TV personality from Wales.  Everybody from Wales can sing but Charlotte has a very impressive chest which may be why she became famous.  That doesn’t explain why Tom Jones became so famous though.

To read more of Mark's letters, visit his blog at :  http://markjorgy.wordpress.com/

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20Oct/121

Old McDonalds



McDonalds food and denturesThis letter was actually written by the person from whom I inherited my complaining genes - my father!

A grumpy septuagenarian who spends most of his time on cruise ships these days, he obviously beleives that McDonalds should be catering to the more mature end of the market... 

Customer Relations Department
McDonald's Restaurants Ltd
11 - 59 High Road
East Finchley
London
N2 8AW

Dear Ronald MacDonald

I do hope you are real.  If not, then this shocking news has two grave consequences.  Firstly, it means that I am writing to a non-responsive, non-environmentally friendly plastic clown - that was probably made in some forgotten corner of Asia Minor by children under the age of nine.  Secondly, that a well respected international fast food juggernaut of a conglomeration has once again been hoodwinked by another faceless 'image consultancy' (probably left over from Tony Blair's occupancy of No. 10) into spending millions on an utterly useless piece of none bio degradable pointless marketing.  But I digress....

Ronald, please understand from the off, that I am a proud and grumpy fuddyduddy of the silver haired generation, who has long since outlived the 'wrinkly' stage and is now just about coping with 'crumbly' status.  A good day is when things simply seize up, as opposed to fall off.  Sadly, I now represent the largest part of the UK population - that army of Victor Meldrew[1] sound-alikes who are shaking their walking sticks in the direction of McDonalds.

Why is this you may ask?

Well, you seem to have forgotten that we exist!

Contrary to your expectations, McDonalds represents a genuine lifeline to the millions of old farts that make up our generation.  Firstly, the many McDonalds outlets are an ideal meeting place - local, convenient and centrally-heated.  Secondly, the normally miserable small proportions you serve up are in fact perfectly sized for individuals of our life expectancy afflicted as we are with the appetite of an anorexic tortoise.  Furthermore, the cost of a bag of McNuggets is just about affordable on our almost non- existent government pensions.  And to be honest, we haven't the energy left to go anywhere else!

Fat Kids in McDonaldsBut woe is me, your establishments are geared towards teenage yummy mummies spending their giros on stuffing their oversized offspring with chemicals and additives, over a coffee whilst updating their status on Facebook.

Well believe it or not, those of us born when fast food meant catching a chicken before you cooked it and coke was kept in the coal house don't want party balloons, cardboard crowns, noisy plastic toys or screaming brats drawing spirograph[2] patterns in tomato ketchup.  Indeed, they are a genuine hazard to our brittle limbs and represent a constantly changing obstacle course that tests the remaining grey cells that make up our fragile minds. 

What we need is our own area - a place devoid of children, set aside for us semi-incontinent geriatrics.  Let's call it 'Old McDonalds'.  A place with a parking area for our buggies and zimmer frames, close to the exit because we can't walk very far - and also to the toilets as we no longer have the bladder control we once had - particularly after one of those McFlurry things that can squeeze a bladder like a bulldog on a windpipe!  We'd also like to request softer seating as like your burgers, we're made up of rather more gristle and cartilage than fresh meat nowadays.  Some cardboard saucers would be handy to reduce the spillage from those with Parkinson’s or the fans of Strictly Ballroom.

Might I also suggest that a subtle change of menu could attract the more up market blue rinse set to your establishments? You could introduce the ‘Chicken Zimmer Fillet’ with ‘Deep Heat Relish’;  ‘Sweet Chilli Chicken Wrapped In A Tortilla Comfort Blanket’; ‘Grilled Senior Citizens Salad’ with ‘Wrinkle Defying Oil Of Olay Dressing’; ‘The Big E (Euthanasia) Burger’; and of course, the ‘Dementia Happy Meal’.  

Perhaps a line of food requiring less chewing could also be considered?  After all, when you get to our age you have neither the energy nor the ability to masticate for very long.

So please Ronald, before we shuffle off this mortal coil, spare a thought for those of us that will soon be vertically challenged.  Put the Mmmmm back into McDonalds and then we might just be lovin' it.

Yours sincerely,

Mr. Wrinkly 


[1] For the benefit of our American readers, Victor Meldrew was the lead character in the BBC television comedy series ‘One Foot in the Grave’ which ran from 1990 to 2001.  The hapless Victor is forced into retirement only to experience a constant stream of bad luck.  I think it was inspired by my father. Bill Cosby made a loose remake in the US entitled ‘Cosby’ which ran from 1996 to 2000.

[2] Spirograph™ was a hugely popular toy before the internet was invented which involved sticking a biro in a hole within a plastic cog and then using it to drive said cog around another cog.  The result, if you were incredibly steady-handed and remarkably patient, was that the biro drew a very interesting pattern.  It was as utterly pointless as it was popular but kept children quiet for hours on end.

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14Sep/120

Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Fire…



ronson lighterI just got back from a holiday in the Greek Islands - and very nice it was too.  Usually after a holiday, I would be complaining to airlines or hotels but this time, I had a very unusual experience with a faulty cigaratte lighter.....

 
Ronson International
Station Works
Long Buckby
Northampton
NN6 7PF

Dear Customer Relations,

I recently acquired one of your lighters.

To be more precise, I acquired a Ronson ‘Colourlite’ disposable lighter in navy/white[1].  According to your website, the lighter is “dependable and easy to use” and “comes in 5 vibrant colours”.  What’s more, it conforms to ISO 9994[2] which is very reassuring.  The packaging states that it is “child safe approved”. This is obviously a very safe lighter.

Unfortunately, that last statement is complete and utter bollocks.

And talking of bollocks, that just happens to be what the lighter was resting against when it exploded.

Yes, that’s right, exploded.  Like a hand grenade.

It just so happens that I was wearing a pair of swimming shorts at the time.  Consequently, I was not wearing underwear of any kind which might have cushioned the impact. No, my wedding tackle was nestled in a fine net gusset – designed no doubt to allow ventilation in but stop testicles getting out and making an unscheduled appearance down the leg of the shorts when I was reclining on a sunbed.  As any soldier will tell you, a fine net gusset is no substitute for Kevlar body armour.

I had just been out on the balcony of our hotel room in Mykonos to enjoy a cigarette and returning to the room, I put the cigarette packet and lighter into the pocket of my shorts.  Soon afterwards, there was a deafening bang , followed a split second later by excruciating pain causing me to drop to my knees screaming something along the lines of “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!”

The loud bang, my collapse and the horrendous noises I was making convinced my wife that I had been shot and she went into an immediate panic – unable to decide whether to run to my aid or hide under the bed.  For my part, I was too busy feeling like I had been kicked in the nuts by an invisible horse.

Having absolutely no idea what had happened, I eventually plucked up the courage to put my hand into the pocket of my shorts to inspect the damage.  There, alongside my throbbing testicle, I discovered the lighter – now in two very distinct pieces.

At this point, you have probably decided that I am making this up so to demonstrate that I am in fact telling the truth, I include below a photograph[3] of the lighter taken after the explosion:

ronson lighterIt is indeed fortunate that the shrapnel was not sharper.  The thought of having a two inch piece of plastic embedded in my soft and tender parts still makes my eyes water.

Be that as it may, I (and my wife for that matter) have been through a very traumatic experience.  The incident didn’t do a lot for my holiday sex life either I can tell you!  My right testicle is still throbbing gently as I write this – whether from the lingering effects of the injury or because it knows what I’m writing I cannot say.  I shall probably suffer from bouts of post traumatic stress disorder.

At the very least, you owe me a disposable lighter – preferably one that doesn’t belong on the business end of a cruise missile.  I hope though that you will feel that my unique experience is deserving of a gesture of compensation. 

A couple of World Cup Final tickets would be nice.

Yours achingly,

 

Anthony

[1] Actually, I think it’s more royal blue but your website calls it navy.
[2] I tried to take a look at ISO 9994 but it cost 116 Swiss Francs so I didn’t bother.
[3] I bet you thought it was going to be a photograph of my testicle didn’t you?
 

To their credit, Ronson replied straight away: 

Dear David,

I was amused by your colourful description of events involving our Colourlite lighter (I am not sure how the girls in our customer service dept viewed it??[1])  On the serious side, I was concerned to hear of this incident and am anxious to inspect the lighter to see if I can establish what caused the tank to shatter.  Could I ask you to please send the remains to me at the address below. We will send you 2 x £5 Tesco Vouchers[2] to cover the cost of the postage and for you to purchase a replacement – this is a good will gesture made without prejudice.

If you could shed any further light on events leading to the incident i.e. if the lighter had been dropped or exposed to direct sunlight.  Also your photo was not clear enough to read the logo and the date stamp on the metal flameguard on the side opposite to that photographed.  If you could let me know this information by return I can start the investigation.

I do hope your tackle is sufficiently recovered to enable a resumption of normal activity[3].

Best regards

Brian Wells 

Technical Services Manager
Ronson International Ltd
Station Road
Long Buckby
Northampton NN6 7PF
 
 

[1] They enjoyed it a lot actually.  They emailed me separately to tell me so.  To quote: “ I would like to say, from the girls in the office, you put a smile on our faces!

[2] My wife stole the vouchers and spent them on wine so I still haven’t got a new lighter.

[3] Actually, I think that there’s an even greater lack of symmetry than there was before the explosion.

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8Jul/120

My Dearest EasyJet Idiots….



Those wonderful people in the easyJet Customer Relations Department have been at it again.  This week, they sent an email to my wife in reply to an email that never existed about an incident that took place in early 2010!  However, what was surprising was that their note appeared to offer to process some more refunds for other easyJet flights.  That was too good an opportunity to miss.

To see the email and my reply, click here to go to the EasyJet Chronicles section of the website.

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