I did a complaint once.
and it turned out I was quite good at it, too. Let me tell you what and how...

It was nearing Christmas and I clumsily entered a late rush for mediocrity so as to avoid completely disappointing my family again, but for once knowing that I'd already achieved a small yet satisfying victory in the buying for my young nephew a Super Noisy Microphone Thing That'll Fucking Irritate the Gonads Off My Brother and His Missus Until the Batteries Die or They Kill Themselves to Death With it. It was the perfect gift for the wee lad and I felt not even the least pang of guilt at the fact that it was truly a cunty thing to do to his parents.

Christmas loomed ever nearer and still I'd taken no delivery of the SNMTTFItGOMBaHMUtBDoTKTtDWi so I peered into the Amazon to see if it had become lost among the general Christmas flotsam floating therein, only to see that I couldn't expect its delivery until sometime in the new year. "Well that's a bit rubbish, you twatting shit badgers" I may have thought before ignoring the whole sorry business and getting on with something less vexing in the hope that I was wrong about it all along.

However, upon eventually accepting that, much like the mousey innards I just found spread at the feet of my generous & happy little cat, it wasn't going to just mend itself without at least some interference from me, I set about emailing Amazon a long and meandering complaint that centred uncomfortably around the image of a deeply disappointed, yet desperately cute 4 year old child who would have to spend Christmas knowingly not getting his SNMTTFItGOMBaHMUtBDoTKTtDWi.

I expected nothing but a standard "cock off you pointless sweaty ball bag" letter in response, but the people who live in Amazon must have been touched by my nephew's sorrowful plight as they plucked a shiny new SNMTTFItGOMBaHMUtBDoTKTtDWi from the trees of their mystical land of brown cardboard and sent it forthwith, direct to the eager paws of my sibling's former testicle dribblings.

I was simultaneously loved and hated in equal measure that Christmas morning, and it felt a little bit like being drunk.
( Moey, Fri 3 Sep 2010, 23:42, Reply)