Dear Customer Relations – The World's Best Funny Complaint Letters
10Dec/120

HMRC: The Taxman Does Have a Sense of Humour!

the tax manThe taxman does have a sense of humour! If only that was true.  Alas, this fantastic letter from the Inland Revenue to comedian Chris Addison is a spoof penned by Mr. Addison himself for his 'Funny Money' column in The Guardian newspaper back in September 2003. 

Nevertheless, it is still utterly brilliant!

Dear Mr Addison,

I am writing to you to express our thanks for your more than prompt reply to our latest communication, and also to answer some of the points you raise.

I will address them, as ever, in order.

Firstly, I must take issue with your description of our last as a “begging letter”. It might perhaps more properly be referred to as a “tax demand”. This is how we, at the Inland Revenue have always, for reasons of accuracy; traditionally referred to such documents.

Secondly, your frustration at our adding to the “endless stream of crapulent whining and panhandling vomited daily through the letterbox on to the doormat” has been noted. However, whilst I have naturally not seen the other letters to which you refer I would cautiously suggest that their being from “pauper councils, Lombardy pirate banking houses and pissant gas-mongerers” might indicate that your decision to “file them next to the toilet in case of emergencies" is at best a little ill-advised.

In common with my own organisation, it is unlikely that the senders of these letters do see you as a “lackwit bumpkin" or, come to that, a “sodding charity”. More likely they see you as a citizen of Great Britain, with a responsibility to contribute to the upkeep of the nation as a whole.

Which brings me to my next point.

Whilst there may be some spirit of truth in your assertion that the taxes you pay “go to shore up the canker-blighted, toppling folly that is the Public Services”, a moment’s rudimentary calculation ought to disabuse you of the notion that the government in any way expects you to “stump up for the whole damned party” yourself. The estimates you provide for the Chancellor’s disbursement of the funds levied by taxation, whilst colourful, are, in fairness, a little off the mark. Less than you seem to imagine is spent on “junkets for Bunterish lickspittles” and “dancing whores” whilst far more than you have accounted for is allocated to, for example, “that box-ticking facade of a university system.”

A couple of technical points arising from direct queries:
1. The reason we don’t simply write “Muggins” on the envelope has to do with the vagaries of the postal system;
2. You can rest assured that “sucking the very marrows of those with nothing else to give” has never been considered as a practice because even if the Personal Allowance didn’t render it irrelevant, the sheer medical logistics involved would make it financially unviable.

I trust this has helped. In the meantime, whilst I would not in any way wish to influence your decision one way or the other, I ought to point out that even if you did choose to “give the whole foul jamboree up and go and live in India” you would still owe us the money.

Please forward it by Friday.

Yours Sincerely,
H J Lee

Customer Relations

PS  Thanks to the Guardian Money Desk for their kind consent to reproduce this letter. 
2Dec/120

Vegetarian Society: I Think I Swallowed an Owl!



I came across this letter to the Vegetarian Society during one my regular trawls of the internet looking for funny complaints and silly letters.   Its author, Hayden Edwards, sends rather silly letters to unsuspecting retailers and service providers.  Hayden's Blog, 'To Whom It May Concern..' (see sidebar for link) contains many very funny examples including a complaint to Sainsburys because the trout she bought at the fish counter wouldn't swim in the garden pond! 

Dear Vegetarian Society,

It has been 15 years, a few days and a couple of accidently deleted answering machine messages since my elderly neighbour Jean turned to me in IKEA's childrens ball pool and said "You should be a vegetarian".

She always has words of wisdom and she was so right.  From that day on, I proudly called my self a Vegetarian. I even managed to resist buying those beautiful hotdogs on the way out of IKEA. Jean didn't, she managed to gobble down 8 at the bus stop before she was sick.

Over the last decade and a half as a vegetarian, I have enjoyed spreading the word and have even succesfully managed to convert an alcoholic and a nun to the good cause. I have written to Quorn, bought a goat from a farmer to save it (unfortunately it did pass away 2 weeks later after it got stuck in the cinema) and am writing a book of recipes I have invented for others to enjoy.

However, since yesterday my faith has been badly damaged and I don't know what to do.

It all started when Jean and I decided to take a cycle to the beach as the weather was beautiful. Jean was showing off as usual and rushing ahead when I spotted a tractor in the distance which appeared to have no driver, I shouted and shouted to Jean to warn her but as I did so, something, perhaps a fly or a baby owl flew into my mouth and I swallowed it whole!

All my hard work as a vegetarian had been ruined.

I am writing to ask for forgiveness and guidance as I'm frightened I may have actually enjoyed the taste and may be tempted to cycle around with my mouth open in the future.

I hope you can understand urgency of my letter and that your response will be a rapid one.

Yours Sincerely

Hayden Edwards

Full marks to Bronwen Humphreys at the Vegetarian Society for sending a reply:

Vegetarian Society flyDear Hayden

As it seems unlikely a baby owl would be out in broad daylight, I think it is possible you may have swallowed a fly or some similar winged insect. As it was an accident, no-one would blame you.

I’m sure most of us have experienced little slip-ups in a lifetime of vegetarianism and it would be a shame to say that one incident ruined all the positive aspects of being a long-term vegetarian. You should just try and put it behind you.

Best wishes

Bronwen

Bronwen Humphreys

Local Network Co-ordinator

You can follow Hayden on Twitter: @HaydensWords  

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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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29Jul/122

Innocent Smoothie Turned Me into a Parrot!



Innocent drinksThis rather silly letter was written by Thomas de Graaff who I believe is probably Dutch.  What is more certain is that Thomas is a mad as a sack of rabid cats, as you can see by following the sidebar link to his 'Dear Ferrero' Blog.

Anyway, when they received Thomas's letter, rather than calling the guys in the white coats, those very sporting chaps at Innocent Drinks decided to humour Thomas with a reply - and a rather fetching portrait of Thomas!  

 

Dear Innocent Drinks,

Allow me to explain how a seemingly innocent smoothie of yours has changed my life in the most incredible way. You may find my account hard to believe, however I feel it is vital that you be aware of what your product has been capable of.

It all started on an unusually hot August evening in 1921. With much of the strawberry-infested European continent in the grip of a scorching heat wave, water scarcity had reached a critical stage nationwide. As I went about picking beans on my neighbour’s vegetable field, my attention was promptly drawn to the top of a bottle protruding from the dry cracked soil. Curious as I was, for an inexplicable reason I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. Instead, struck by a sudden sense of disorientation I got up and ran off.

Upon returning home I was astonished to find that very same bottle sitting on the kitchen table. It bore a label reading “innocent”, which led me into believing that the pink coloured liquid contained within would be safe to drink. So I unscrewed the cap, brought the bottle to my lips and emptied it in one go.

Shortly after, the drowsiness set in. When I woke up, I immediately felt that something wasn’t quite right. My body mass seemed to have dropped significantly, my field of view had changed, and moving was a different experience altogether. Later that night, dad affirmed that I had morphed into a parrot.

I have been longing to write to you for many decades. The main challenge I faced was to build up a sufficiently sized vocabulary which would enable me to dictate my letter to a human being. On the one hand, I am grateful for still feeling fit at the advanced age of 95. On the other hand, I feel that there is so much I could have achieved if only I hadn’t drunk your smoothie and morphed into a bird. That is why first of all, I would like to ask you for some sort of compensation. Also, and perhaps more importantly, I would like to learn whether you know of any similar cases. I would be delighted to meet a few individuals who have lived through the same experience as I have.

I look forward to your reply.

Yours sincerely,

Thomas

 

Remarkably, the staff in the Innocent Drinks Customer Relations Department replied very much in the spirit of Thomas's letter:

Hello there Thomas,

We’re sorry to hear that you’ve spent much of your life as a bird, though we can’t help but think about all the good stuff that comes with having a set of wings.

The perks of being a bird include:

- great view at all times
- no rush hour traffic
- you can live wherever you want
- great singing voice
- fully entitled to attack nut-stealing squirrels
- you were ‘tweeting’ way before we were

We do realise though, that there are some things you will have missed out on over the years, like:

- Sunday roasts
- wearing the latest fashions
- having an iPad
- watching Deal or No Deal*
- being able to do the robot dance

We’d love to say sorry by sending you something nice, but don’t have your address yet. If you’d like to tell us which tree you’re currently living in (along with the postcode) we’ll pop something in the post for you.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Rio

*unless you’re perched outside someone’s front room window

What's more, Rio sent a voucher and a drawing of how they imagined Thomas must now look (though his ornithological knowledge is clearly not a great deal better than his spelling!): 

 innocent reply

 

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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.

3Jul/120

Scary Duck Strikes Again: South West Trains



Alistair Coleman, author of the award-winning Scary Duck blog, whose letter 'The Wreck' also features on DCR's 'Best Ever Complaint Letters' page, has been at it again. This week, Alistair sent DCR his latest and very funny complaint letter to South West Trains.  Hopefully, we'll hear from Alistair when and if he gets a reply.

To visit the Scary Duck Blog and see more of Alistair's hilarious writing, click the link in the sidebar.

South West Trains - a train

Bad things happened to me yesterday. Bad things, which involved rich, brown vomit and the actual feeling on the 0812 from Fleet to London Waterloo that I was not long for this world.

My pleas for help ignored, I react in the only way I know how: The writing of a letter of complaint deploying the twin weapons of SARCASM and BADLY-PHOTOSHOPPED IMAGES.

 

 

Dear South West Trains

Congratulations on being the number one train franchise in the south west!  However, before you rest on your laurels, I must write to complain about my journey today.

Warning: Contains vomit (me), pain (me), and dreadful customer service (you).

I had the misfortune of falling ill on my journey from Fleet to London Waterloo this morning. On arriving in the metropolis, having spent much of the commute locked in a toilet, bowking rich, brown vomit down the previously immaculately clean pan, I approached a member of station staff to seek assistance.

I might point out that I was clearly and visibly unwell at this time, bent double in pain, and sweating like a priest outside a boys' dormitory, my second-best shirt hanging off me like damp rags. However, my request for help and directions to a first aid post were met with a stout refusal. Here is an artist's impression of the encounter for illustrative purposes which you may find useful.

south west trains 02

 

All I wanted was somewhere quiet to sit down (preferably in close proximity to a toilet and/or a bucket) whilst I contemplated the futility of my existence.  The presence of a large-bosomed nurse offering me sympathy and lashings of sweetened tea was purely optional.

Instead, I was told "We're not a doctor's surgery, you know" and "there's a taxi rank out front, they'll get you to St Thomas's (hospital)."  This is, I am sure you will agree, not the response I expected from your staff, and the kind of Premier League muppetry that gives businesses like yours a bad name.  That name being "bunch of useless muppets".

Angry, unwell and confused, I instead abandoned my journey, got on the next service to Fleet and returned home.

Unfortunately, I did not have sufficient wits about me to record the name of this member of staff.  All I can remember is that he had the air of Aleksandr Orlov about him, the celebrity meerkat from the popular Compare The Markets advertisements, except balding on top and with glasses.  More like hapless meerkat computer-me-bob boffin Sergei, then.  I've made a police-style efit for you, if it helps.

If I were a gentleman, I would offer this cur the chance to redeem himself in the traditional manner (Dawn, St James's Park, pistols, the loser being dragged around town on a hurdle); but in this modern age, a mere apology, and the words "clear training need" would suffice. 

And free tickets to the moon, obviously.

While I describe my misfortune to you with good grace, I was shocked by the lack of cooperation given to a clearly unwell customer. Sort it out.

Be lucky.

Your new pal,

Albert O'Balsam

 

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13May/128

Pantene: Disappearing Curls



pantene perfect curlsI have always considered that it would be better to be bald than have curly hair - which is a good job as most of my hair migrated in a southerly direction many years ago and now makes only brief appearances on my ears, the bridge of my nose and various other parts of my anatomy.  Not so for Michael Scott Thomson.  He is immensly proud of his curly locks and was seriously miffed when his favorite shampoo for curly tops disappeared from the supermarket shelves - so he decided to appeal to the manufacturer:

 

 

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Dear Pantene,

I am writing because, comparatively recently, you manufactured, bottled and distributed what I can only describe as a veritable topically-applied ambrosia.  Or, if you like, an elixir of life which nourished, protected, moisturised, tamed and, without wishing to appear in the slightest way narcissistic you understand, elevated the status of my appearance to the slightly-more-lofty levels of 'not-bad' as opposed to its usual 'fair-to-middling'.

O Pantene, O brewer of enchanted follicular potion, it is the case that I have curly hair.  Yet you have stopped making "Perfect Curls".  That is, the shampoo, conditioner AND the 2-in-1 combined variety.

Why is this, pray tell?

I have one bottle of my last year's supply of shampoo left; there are about two inches of the stuff remaining.  Even a promotional stripe under the lid proclaims '25% Bigger Size'.  It's just as well, is it not, that you were generous enough to give away a quarter extra back then, otherwise it would have ran out long ago.  Maybe you considered you owed us curly-tops in lieu for the truly tragic moment in the then-future that you decided to unceremoniously whip it away from under our noses.  

I've been using it at a premium - the tiniest dollop for the most special of special occasions.  It's been far too valuable for humdrum day-to-day application.

Let's take a look at the back of the bottle.  I always admired your instructions, always so much more than mere "rinse, lather, repeat", inscribed in plain English:

"Do you have: Natural or permed curly hair?

My answer: Yes.  Natural though.  Never permed.  Funny, isn't it, how people with naturally curly hair often want to straighten it out, and those with straight hair often want perms?  Such folks, women usually, are often those who toy dangerously with those shocking white-hot pincer metal things, lethal gadgets like irons for one's hair, its merest touch against human skin enough to administer third degree burns.  A girl I know, in the process of curling her hair, once scolded her cheek with one of those things. The ensuing scar resembled a Cheesy Wotsit [1] glued to her face and there it stayed for the rest of the month, until her coffee break one bright morning when it peeled off by itself and floated, ever so gently, to the office floor.  Still, I guess it keeps you conglomorates in business.

"But you want: Beautifully defined, shiny, bouncy curls?

My answer: Yes please.  My hair is the only part of me which can and does, to a degree, bounce when I use that shampoo, so it's a welcome bonus to have the ability to do just that.  Another part of me once tried to bounce, but it went horribly wrong.  I won't go into that here and I'll leave you to guess which part. No, it's not that.

On the bottle you next stated "Pantene's 3 steps for beautifully defined, shiny, bouncy curls", which were, in truncated form here, to use 1) Perfect Curls Shampoo, 2) Perfect Curls Conditioner, and 3) Pantene Pro-V Style Perfect Curls defining mousse.

Well, I can only assume this stellar advice, implied by the crushing blank spaces on the supermarket shelves where these products once stood, now reads something akin to this: Get lost, corkscrew-bonce![2]

I understand, you are not the first and will by no means be the last conglomerate to discontinue a perennial favourite with a loyal fan base.  I'm still smarting over the disappearance of Lynx Apollo goodness knows how many years ago (that wasn't you as well, was it?), and the lack of Fuse Bars has only been marginally compensated by the reappearance of Wispas.  No, I've never tried to wash my hair with any of those things, but you know what I mean.

But really, nothing was quite like Perfect Curls.  Your worthy competitors never quite reached the same heights.  Sunsilk got the closest, although their bottles were never that big, and Herbal Essences weren't bad with their wittily-named "It's a Curl Thing" range (even though I assure everyone I'm every bit a man).  But even those items have gone from the shelves.  The only affordable option now is Naked Bounce, which, valiant effort though it is, just doesn't cut it for me.

I hear through various online sources that you suggest, for curly people, using a (new?) mousse now available.  I have to raise an exasperated chuckle at this.  Me, mousse? Firstly, I don't like putting sticky things in my hair.  Sellotape, blu-tack, lollypops; it's all bad.  That includes mousse for me, I'm afraid.  Besides, first thing in the morning when I am FAR from compos-mentis, fannying about with cloud-like goo is beyond the realms of my capabilities.  I once, by accident, brushed my teeth with Bonjela for crying out loud.  I spent the rest of the day looking like Ken Dodd and sounding like a Gumby.

 But all may be not lost, and there is a glimmer of hope on the horizon.  Last week I went to Spain for a relaxing holiday on the Costa Del Sol (I stayed in Coín - it's where they used to film Eldorado - sorry, I digress again).  The supermarkets there were generously equipped with 'Rizos Perfectos', and, since I have the benefit of being a fluent Spanish speaker, as well as having recognised the identical branding, knew the stuff at once.  Such a novelty it was to see it back on the shelves again I almost did one of those clicky-heel things in mid air. 

And, back at the apartment and under the shower, my hair, and indeed my nostrils, were treated to the most scintillating indulgence worthy of the highest spa in the land.  It wasn't only my hair which bounced for the rest of the day. 

I came back with eight bottles. It'll last me, ooh, three months maybe.  Then what? A shampoo pilgrimage to the set of failed soap operas?

So after all the above piffle, I guess I should get to the point, and that is: I am wondering - have you really just stopped making Pro-V Perfect Curls, or is it just that you consider us Brits unworthy?  Is there something about Spain and, potentially, the rest of Europe, which mean they are more deserving? 

Did I just luck out on that occasion? 

And if you have stopped it, is it really because people stopped buying it?

That could never be. Surely?

Yours in lots of hair, 

 

Mike Scott Thomson



[1] For our American readers, a ‘Cheesy Wotsit’ is a strangely popular cheese flavoured snack which looks like a bright orange owl turd.

[2] Again, for our American readers, “bonce” is British slang for the human head.  The original bonce was a large marble that featured in several children’s games of the nineteenth century. The English Dialect Dictionary suggests it’s a version of bounce, since such a marble was also called a bouncer and was “the large earthenware marble used for bouncing or playing with checks or cubes”.

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