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This is a question Complaining

I like writing letters of complaint to companies containing the words "premier league muppetry", if only to give the poor office workers a good laugh on an otherwise dull day. Have you ever complained? Did it work?

(, Thu 2 Sep 2010, 13:16)
Pages: Latest, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

A handy guide
Reading some of the later posts on here got me thinking about complaints I have had to deal with in various jobs. Since I'm bored, here's a compendium of recurring complaints from members of the Great British Public, and explanations of why they're wrong.


Most common:

- I can't believe you won't take my card - I assure you everything's fine (That may well be true but the little machine says no. And the machine is my master. Deal with it.)
- I can't believe you won't sell me booze. I'm 18 mate. It was my birthday last month (Well pardon me for not being able to correctly identify your age within a month's margin of error. Learn some manners and bring some ID, you spotty little oik)
- Bringing stuff in that you bought a week ago and is now past it's sell by/use by date (it wasn't when you bought it - you should have checked the date and used it)

Or more extreme:

- Digging a load of damaged products out of the bins at the back of the store, then bringing them in and trying to claim refunds (if you haven't got a receipt, you're unlikely to be believed. This is why everyone locks their bins up nowadays, anyway)


- Complaining about your beer after you've drunk most of it (If you had only had an gulp or two, I'd believe you without question and happily change it for something else)
- Complaining that your drink wasn't made exactly how you wanted it, e.g. 'Can you change this - I wanted a G&T made with Bombay Sapphire, not Gordon's, and I wanted lemon and not lime, and I wanted it served in a pewter tankard' (then you should have said so, I'm not psychic)
- It's a bit smoky [nowadays redundant] (We do have a non-smoking area. You've chosen not to sit in it. I genuinely don't know what to suggest.)
- Complaining about being refused service/asked to leave (I can understand it at the time, as you were out of your skull and a bit fight-y, but the people who come back the next day/week and want an apology for being politely told to leave when they were being dickheads really do lack self-awareness)

And the one which really always puzzled me...

- Complaining that you're offended because you've been asked not to eat your own food in the pub (We are a business serving food - can you really not see the issue? Would you like to bring your own cans of lager in the future as well?)


- I didn't sell anything. I want my money back (Funny, I don't seem to remember giving you a guarantee in a moment of recklessness.)
- My ad was on a page with lots and lots of other ads (Yes. It's called Classified Advertising. That's what happens)
- I want to place an ad in today's paper - what do you mean I can't? (Whilst it is, indeed, an EVENING newspaper, you may have observed that it has to be PRINTED onto reams of paper, and then DISTRIBUTED to newsagents, so unfortunately I can't place an ad in the edition which goes on sale in he next 45 minutes)
- [Surprisingly common one] Have you got any adverts for jobs in such-and-such? What do you mean I've got to buy the paper? (we're not a charity - we make money from people buying the paper. Plus, I'm not sitting here perusing job ads for the county's unemployed because you can't be arsed to get down the newsagent and spare 35p for the trouble of finding employment)

Complaining is great. It's necessary and often productive, plus it gets stuff of your chest. But doing all three of those jobs, there was about 1% of the complaints that genuinely had any sense to them. (Except in the pub - the food really was terrible).
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 14:27, Reply)
Tenuous link here, but it's a sort of anti-complaint.
I was once told the story of a man who took his Rolls Royce on a jolly 'round Europe. He was in France heading for Italy when the front axle snapped clean in half. He phoned Rolls Royce and they sent a mechanic with a new axle; it was fitted and off he went on his merry way.

When he got home, he phoned Rolls Royce to see how much he owed them, and how they would like to receive payment. They denied all knowledge of the incident, and assured him that an axle would never snap on one of their products.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 14:09, 6 replies)
iPhone battery flat after 5 hours...

... booked Genius appointment, walked into Apple Store without receipt or anything. Walked out 10 minutes later with brand new iPhone. I mean, WTF? Can't they behave like any other large company? I was sooo looking forward to a prolonged shouting match...

Months later I had lost one of the rubber buds of the Apple in-ear headphones. Booked appointment again, walked in, got a brand new set of headphones! And the leftover rubber bud as a spare from the old one. Seriously, WTF?
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 14:05, 2 replies)
when complaining is the wrong option
A couple of years ago I turned up at the then pretty new Heathrow T5 for a flight with British Airways (they'd just about sorted out the cock-ups with baggage by then, so it's not a story about that).

I went to the self-service check-in, only to discover I'd been bumped off my flight. My first instinct was to fly into a rage and march over to the service desk and direct a torrent of abuse at the staff and demand that I get reinstated on the flight. But somehow I was able to retain some sense and realised that I should keep cool.
So on arrival at the service desk I had to wait as there was a passenger in front of me being served. It turned out he was booked on the same flight, and like me had been bumped. Now he WAS in a rage. He was shouting at the man and woman behind the desk, telling them that he was a lawyer and he absolutely HAD to be on that flight for a very important meeting. They apologised but said there was nothing they could do, but they would do their best to get him onto a later flight. Not good enough. "I will SUE British Airways... and YOU personally!" he raged. His threats and abuse continued for some time, but were met with just repeated apologies and "sorry, we can't do that, but we'll try to..." As their patience ran thinner, the man behind the desk asked the passenger to step aside or he would call security. The "lawyer" continued on regardless. Security were called.
The BA chap then turns his attention to me, while his colleague and a security chap continue to try to deal with the irate fellow.
I realise the BA man is very stressed now and not enjoying his job at this particular moment at all. And of course the overbooking is not his personal fault. So I make a conscious effort to be very nice to him, and thank him in advance for his help. He's also very obviously gay, and I shamelessly decide to flirt with him a bit to get him on my side (I'm straight but can flirt with teh gays when the situation calls for it). His relief at dealing with a nice friendly person was instant and obvious. He apologises that I've been bumped, explains that the flight is completely overbooked. Then looks over at the kerfuffle still continuing with Mr Angry who is about to be physically removed from the airport. BA chaps winks and whispers to me "I'm just going to make a call and see what I can do".
A minute later I'm booked back onto my original flight. And upgraded. And of course, because I am now travelling Business Class, I am entitled to use the lovely new lounge. And drink lots of lovely booze and generally get treated brilliantly for the next few hours. Mr Angry Lawyer, on the other hand, didn't have quite such luck. Whether he was really a lawyer or not I don't know, and nor did I care as I reclined in my leather seat with a glass of champagne.

It's amazing what a smile and wink can do to cheer up someone who's having a shitty day at work, and they may just go out of their way to help you. Yelling at them when they've done nothing wrong personally won't get you far. Sometimes, it quite literally won't get you anywhere except escorted off the premises.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 14:01, 8 replies)
A girl
I went out with in university went with a friend to the local shop to buy a kitkat. When she ate it she found out it didn't have any biscuit in it. After a/some bottle(s) of wine, she decided to write a letter of complaint to nestle (being drunk she also decorated the letter with a crayon drawing of a sad looking pony covered in glitter).

A week later she got an apologetic letter back with a comment on how nice her drawing was, and with a £35 voucher for chocolate - that they suggested her mother disburse to her - her drunken scrawl and pony drawing evidently making them think she was about 7, not 19.

When I went to see her that night she was sitting on her bed, a greenish tinge to her face, surrounded by chocolate wrappers, rocking back and forth slightly, murmuring over and over again "I can't eat any more".
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 13:36, 14 replies)
An ongoing complaint, it would appear...
Sorry, it's a long one, but I need to get this off my chest.

I am currently in the process of moving house. Moving into the new house has been comparatively hassle-free. Unfortunately, the estate agents in charge of my current place have spent the last week or so fucking me right off.

It began on Wednesday. Now as I understand it, if you want to bring people round to see the property, you're supposed to give 24 hours' notice. I received a phonecall around lunchtime from someone asking whether she could show some people round that evening.

It wasn't 24 hours' notice, but we seemed to be on good terms with them at the time, so I agreed. In the end they turned up half an hour late, and in the meantime I got another text from them saying they will be coming to see the property at 8. 8? Was this a typo in an advance warning that they would be late? Apparently not. I looked out the window just after 8 and saw a group waiting to be let in. So that's one viewing at just 6 hours' notice, and another one at an hour's notice. Unimpressed Crow is Unimpressed. Unimpressed Crow tells the guy showing these people round that he wants a word.

Before I could collar the guy, a third group rocked up outside the house. We were never even told about this lot. Angry Crow is Angry. Angry Crow explains that this really is not on, and these people may as well see the place since they're here, but in future a day's notice would be appreciated. Message delivered, Crow went back to packing in something of a huff.

Then, as soon as the last group were out of the house, the agent muttered a hasty "thankyougoodbye" to my housemates and scarpered. I then received a text message - a fucking text message - to say "My sincere apologies, I will let my team know." The fucking coward wouldn't even apologise to my face.

13 minutes later, I received another message from the same slimy git to ask could they do a viewing tomorrow evening? Sincere apologies, my quivering arse.

This alone, I feel, would have been enough to prompt a complaint letter. Unfortunately, the guy obviously didn't get the message as I then received a text on Friday night - do these people ever go home? He wanted to do a viewing the following morning. I refused outright, and so he texted again to ask if he could do the viewing at lunchtime instead.

Great, so you've already marched three groups through my home without appropriate notice, and now you're harassing me on a Friday night. Livid Crow is Livid, to say the least. Time to put a foot down on this. I wrote back to explain that he could not do the viewing, that we would not consent to any more viewings without appropriate notice and that a stiff letter would be sent to his company.

Response to that one? I can't say for sure, but I think after I refused, he went bleating to our landlord. He phoned me on the Saturday, oblivious to the events of the last week, and I explained why I was being so difficult. He said that was fair enough, and volunteered to call them himself to tell them to stop harassing us like this.

I honestly thought that had got the message across, as we received two days' notice for the next viewing. I wrote an irate letter and posted it, as I still felt the need to flag up this behaviour formally, but I thought things would run more smoothly from hereon in.

Oh, how wrong I was. One of them wants a viewing tonight. Obviously his colleague didn't pass the message on. The letter was only posted yesterday, so they probably won't have received it yet, but after I replied to reiterate our position, he wrote back to say that he "appreciate[s] where [I'm] coming from," but that we need to start being more "helpful with the letting process." Give me strength...
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 13:31, 10 replies)
Stop and Search
Back when I was in my early teens (some 20 years ago now), I was stopped outside WHSmith by a heavy-set, plain-clothed gentleman who flashed me his police badge and declared he was about to perform a stop and search on me.

This was my first brush with the law and I was at first terrified and then deeply ashamed as he rifled through my pockets in front of a growing crowd looking for jewelry that had recently been reported stolen from a high-street store. Apparently I fit the description of the thief.

Having found nothing of value on me, he took my details and told me they might be in touch later that day and that I would be kept on record for a year.

Now I was an innocent and naive lad in those days whose only vice was spending too many hours on my Atari ST, so to say the experience shit me up was an understatement. I bolted home to tell my Mum and she literally exploded in rage.

The thing you need to know about my Mother is that at times she can be a very stereotypical northern woman, and therefore insulting or embarrassing a member of her family is likely to be dealt with by great fury and anger.

She marched me straight down to the police station and demanded to see the guy who had searched me. Sensing this was not a woman to cross, he was summoned to talk to us, and the conversation went something like this:

Mrs BinDipper: I want to know why my Son was humiliated in front of a crowd of people when he's only 13 years old

Officer: Because he fit the description of a suspect we want to question

Mrs BinDipper: What's the description?

Officer: The suspect was wearing a blue coat

Mrs BinDipper: What else?

Officer: (long pause) white male, 6' tall

I'm black and would have been about 5' at that age.

Took ages to fill out the paperwork to lodge the complaint, but worth it for the begrudging apology that followed.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 13:12, 8 replies)
Apeloveage has just reminded me
I used to work in the post room of a car-parking fine firm in Mordor.

We got all sorts - "Who the fuck are you - Tony Blair's own personal fucking monkey or something" attached to a ticket for 0901 01-01-00, the cheque stapled a hundred times, and then the one where ... they'd literally wiped their arse on it.

And it had been a runny one.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 12:54, 6 replies)
I got a complaint letter,
and frankly it was shit.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 12:45, Reply)
The Henry Root Letters
started me complaining to all and sundry in the early 80s, for a laugh.

I complained to the Palace that Fergie and Di should've been arrested when they inmpersonated police officers for a prank on Andy's birthday. You always get a nice letter back from them. Even when Phil's been racist.

But one I recall with great glee was early 80s DHSS. I was working winter hours in a tourist exhibition so I was part time. The DHSS had a thing called Part Time Normal, which meant they could count part time as full time and they stopped my supp ben.

I went to CAB and they said, "A test case has been won, they shouldn't be doing that." Great delight spread over my face and the walk to the benefit office built the anticipation of pleasure that I'm surprised I wasn't ready to procreate.

You should be able to imagine the kind of shite a bolshy person like me who's had their benefit stopped can give to a DHSS supervisor who it's been confirmed legally in the wrong.

Best day in the dole office ever.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 12:01, Reply)
This is still in process, but I wanted to record it before this QOTW shut down...

July 17th I ordered a copy of Photoshop for my son's birthday. He's a student, so I could pay a (much) reduced price, so I ordered direct from Adobe.
July 19th - his academic identification was approved, order confirmed, to be delivered end of July, just in time for his birthday.
End of July - order hadn't arrived and we left on holiday, thinking it would be waiting for us when we got home.
23rd August - get back from holiday, no order. Call Adobe customer service, who say there's an unexplained problem with the order on their side, but they'll sort it.

Over the next week I call them pretty much every day to find out what's going on and ask an update. They never call me, even though they say they will, and only update my support cases rarely and without useful information. I ask to speak to supervisors and managers, get lost in the phone system several times, and when I do get through they can't give me an explanation, and say I'll have to place a new order. I ask for a discount as I've been waiting so long. This has to be escalated again, so I wait more days, until they eventually say no. Against my better judgement I place a new order but ask for my complaint to stay open - and in fact they offer me 10% off my next order...

The new order is placed while I'm on the phone, academic identification already approved, order pending. And I wait, and wait, and the status on the website still says ‘pending’. So I call again to check what's going on. Website says order should be delivered Wednesday 8th, but it's not yet dispatched. Customer service sees a delivery date of September 10th, cannot explain, cannot confirm if the order has been dispatched (apparently they see different information to me). However the nice agent says it will reach me by September 10th whatever happens, and he'll send me a tracking number to prove it.

Now I have no trust left in Adobe, but I do want the software for my son. I’m preparing a complaint to be sent to their head of marketing in Europe and global. Any advice, suggestions?
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 11:49, 15 replies)
A complaint batted right back at them
A mate of mine stopped briefly to pop into another friends house. When he returned to his car just a couple of minutes later, a traffic warden was writing out a ticket.

"Come off it," he said, "I was only stopped for two minutes!"

"Ah but sir, if a fire-engine had to come up here, it wouldn't have been able to get through, would it?"

He'd picked the wrong person to complain to: "That's bollocks, I DRIVE a fire engine, and we wouldn't come this way. Now fuck off."
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 10:56, 9 replies)
Cyclists: A complaint
As a motorist in London cyclists are the bane of my life.

Whenever I want to quickly veer randomly over a cycle lame, as I call them, they just get in the way and generally make a nuisance of themselves.

Whenever I swerve wildly all over the road for my own amusement, I end up having to mow down at least two or three of the fuckers.

I was picking blood, bits of tyres and twisted metal shards out of my chassis for hours yesterday, and that's an unfair waste of a Sunday afternoon when I should be taking MASSIVE drugs off naked supermodels.

Honda Accords do make excellent ramps though, so I don't mind them.

(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 10:19, 2 replies)
Mrs Vagabond works for a charity, where she deals with orders from the catalogue, and the various comments surrounding such.
She told me this morning of how a woman had 'phoned up recently to complain that the diary measurements were given in millimeters, and said "For god's sake! We went metric in the 1960s! Why isn't it in inches?!"

Mrs V was so taken aback, she agreed to and ended up converting the mm measurement to inches.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 9:57, 1 reply)
Let it go man...
Couple of years ago I was have a cup of tea around my mate's parents house, this guy in fact www.b3ta.com/questions/unfinishedbusiness/post767798 , I commented on how swanky their new telly looked. The old man started telling a story of how his sister bought a TV, and when it was delivered there was no plug on the power lead.

As he recounted the tale he was getting angrier and angrier, it ended with him out of the arm chair tensed in a fighting posture, red faced and shouting “SO I FUCKING TOLD HIM TO PUT A FUCKING PLUG ON THAT FUCKING LEAD OR THIS TELLY AND EVERY OTHER FUCKING TELLY IN THE SHOP WAS GOING THROUGH THE FUCKING WINDOW!”.

He collapsed back into the chair, spent from the exertions of the re-lived rage.

“When was this” asked his son

“1952” he replied.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 9:56, 6 replies)

Me and the missus had a few the other night. Nothing over the top, but definitely pissed. We hit the sack and just as I am drifting off she says "I love you so very much (ex's name)". Dark thoughts instantly cloud my mind, but although I take drunken umbrage I don't say anything and instead I start snoring, content in the mileage I’m going to get out of this.

A mere 4 hours later I get abruptly woken up. I'm pushed right onto the edge of the bed with her cuddled in tight behind me and kneeing me hard in the back of my thighs; a slumbering but erroneous notification that I am hogging the bed and need to move over into the carpet-filled abyss (I guess). This rude awakening occurs at the exact moment my lager fuelled mind has my cock about to slip into Kylie's secret garden - one of those rare dirty dreams that you are actually going to see through to completion, or so my brain fraudulently presented it to me at the time.

Complain? Fuck me – you don’t know the half of it.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 9:41, 7 replies)
A tenuous link to the question, but I'll tell the story nonetheless.

I went out on Saturday night with my best mate, a rather attractive young female as it turns out, who's turned me down more times than Colleen Rooney has asked Wayne why his cock smells like fish.

We ended up in Chicagos in Chelmsford. The place was packed with pykies for some reason, and as soon as we got in there I turned to my mate and said: "It's gonna kick off in here tonight..." When you go to an Essex nightclub and the clientèle is noticeably much worse than normal, it's saying something.

Rather than worry about when, not if, someone was going to get lamped, we started on the double JD and Cokes (for me) and double Vodka, lime and soda water for the best mate.

A few hours later and the place is seemingly half empty, and we stumble on to the dance floor and dance. I say dance, but it's more a case of throwing limbs around in wild abandon as is the wont of a 32 year old pissed bloke with no rhythm. After about 30 minutes of this all a sudden a bloke strides over to me from the side of the bar, and walks straight up to me, putting his face in mine.

Oh bugger. A small part of my brain was sober enough to realise that this was unusual. As I was trying to figure out what to do when this bloke would inevitably hit me, he started dancing extremely close to me, looking into my eyes and writhing around like one of Kylies backing dancers. He ran his hands over my hips, and - being the metrosexual guy that I am - I thought "sod it" and danced with him, thankful that a) he hadn't tried to hit me and b) he hadn't tried to kiss me.

After a few minutes (which could have been thirty seconds, but felt like much longer) I manoeuvred him back to his mates and carried on dancing as before.

Thinking it a bit weird, but "one of those things", best mate and I continued dancing.

A few minutes later and the guy was back. He grabbed me again and began dancing with me once more. I was getting bored by now and decided it would be a good idea to grab his arse (looking back, I'm not sure why I thought this would be a good idea, other than it being a little funny. As I say, I was very drunk).

As I copped a feel, he pulled his head back slightly and turned his mouth to my ear, growling as he spoke:

"I'm a squaddie. Take your hands off my arse NOW or I'll fucking punch you in the head."

His tone was menancing, though he still hadn't stopped dancing. I pulled away slightly, looking him in the eye.

"But..." I started, putting on as sorrowful a look as possible, "...but YOU asked ME to dance?" before stepping back and heading back to the bar.

That was the last I saw of him that night, perhaps fortunately, as it turns out my best mate spent the couple of minutes I was dancing with the non-gay squaddie telling the blokes mates that she thought he had a small penis.

And that was my Saturday night.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 9:07, 3 replies)
A friend of mine from college
once bought a packet of "Smith's Square Crisps" (do they still make them?). He noticed that they weren't particularly square at all and did a survey of them and found that less than 10% had 3 corners that were close to a right-angle to within an acceptable tolerance.

So he composed a letter detailing this with added geometrical diagrams and information of what makes constitutes a square along with more diagrams.

If you're going to complain in a petulant manner, then at least put some effort into it.

Edit: I'm fairly sure he kept a copy of it so I've emailed him to see if he can dig it out, scan it in and post it.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 8:29, 4 replies)
I'd like to make a general complaint/rant. Apologies in advance for lack of LOLs.

I met a girl just before Christmas, when my relationship with my ex still had about as much closure as the bow doors on the Herald of Free Enterprise. New girl was very cute but had a boyfriend of 5 years and told me not to fall for her as it would make things too complicated and she just wanted to be friends. I said ok and we spent more and more time together as she had just moved to my city and knew nobody.

A few months later her boyfriend dumps her out of the blue whilst I'm away on holiday. I told her I wasn't ready for any big commitment immdeiately but, after a few weeks, she told me she was falling in love with me. I got really confused and, wanting to do the 'right thing' and not hurt/use her, told her that, as my feeling wern't as strong, maybe it'd best if we were just friends. Still, we kept ending up in bed... After a few months of her getting hurt by my mixed messages (which I bitterly regret), I came away on holiday this summer.

I realised suddenly how much I missed her. I nearly broke of a 7 week holiday after 1 week just to go see her. I decided instead to shorten my trip to three weeks and fly half way across Europe to tell her that, belatedly, I wanted us to be together. In my mind it was all finally going to work out and we would both be so happy. :D

A week before I was to fly back she told me she'd was having a shit summer. This guy, who I knew had been sniffing around for a while, but I'd not taken seriously because she'd told me she wasn't interested in him and he was such an ass, had invited her on holiday but then cancelled last minute. I was surprised she was a) planning to go on holiday with him and b) upset so much. She told me she had so wanted to get over me that she'd had a one night stand with him, which had developed into more... That was three weeks ago.

Now I'm in love with a girl who was in love with me for months, but is now together with a guy I consider to be a complete turd.

I would like to complain as it seems the whole thing is so terribly fucked up.

Dear world, can you please sort this out?!? At least make sure it doesn't happen again and send me some vouchers for sex to help me move on...?
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 8:06, 22 replies)
Belgian Hotel loser
I was having trouble thinking about anytime I had complained about anything until I remembered this;


what it didn't say was that each time I complained about the various points to the fuckwit receptionist, all I got was a shrug or a sarcastic remark under his foul garlic smelling breath. That was after I waited patiently for him to take his eyes of whatever was sooo fucking important to look at for 5 minutes under the desk or shuffle some papers before deigning to look at me in a contemptuous way.
I honestly could not believe that I could get this level of shit from an employee of a hotel in this day and age.

I didn’t rise to it and asked to see the manager, who was never in apparently, but when I did eventually get to speak to him he essentially could not give a fucking toss over what had happened and I got the Gallic shrug. He did offer to change rooms but was offered a single which was even fucking worse.

To move to another hotel at short notice I would have had to dip into my own pocket, so being a bit of a cheapskate, I decided to put up with it for a couple of days, I was out most of the time and essentially it was free.

walking past him in the lobby I consoled myself by giving ‘smelly cunty bollocks’ , as I had christened him, 'the finger' as he looked at me when I went past and walked quickly off before the twat could respond.

It was fortunate 'SCB' happened to be on reception when I was checking out and I turned my sarcasm to 11 and made some witticism to the effect of;

‘ I’d like to say it’s been lovely staying here....I’d like to but I can’t as it’s been a nonstop appalling fucking experience with you, your fuckwit of a manager, your shitty fucking rooms and the blatant fraud in describing this shithole as a 4 star hotel and you, Pierre, you must indeed love your crappy, dead end, fucking no hope McJob and if in the rare chance that you actually knew your father, he would be soooo proud that his inbred unwanted progeny can treat other human beings so fucking badly and act like a cunt in the special way you do’ or words to that effect (I may have embellished it a little but essentially that was near enough what I said) and I smugly stepped back and relished my verbal payback.

In hindsight I maybe should have done it as I was leaving the hotel after we had done the necessary paperwork to check out.

That was when the smug cunt ‘couldn’t find my authorisation of payment’ from the travel company and he then started to use my personal card to pay for the room and despite me threatening dire consequences and rapidly rising level of threats he went ahead then folded his arms and grinned.

What the review also leaves out at this point was how I came to be arrested by the Brussels police, as it was one of the few times in my life where have gone absolutely mental,the red mist descended and I can’t remember exactly what I did or said at that point after he retreated into the office.
After calming down I was cautioned by the Gendarmes about my threatening behaviour and left with a Biko sized burning sense of injustice.
The money was credited back eventually but it will take a while yet to assuage the well of hatred I have for the hotel Floris and its employees.
looking at the other reviews on trip advisor I wasn't the only one to have this type of experience.

But I really hope I frightened that fucking gimp, as 2 years on I still want go back and beat him senseless with a blunt instrument.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 1:49, 25 replies)
Opal Fruits
A former housemate of mine used to love Starburst [sic], specifically those rather tangy lime ones in the green wrapper. As he was a first year mechanical engineering student he had nothing better to do with his time than write to companies with complaints, so when he inevitably got a pack with no green ones in he was straight to his writing desk.

I'm not sure exactly what he wrote, but I know he opined the unfairness of the sweet distribution, and suggested that they begin selling packs of each colour individually so people could be sure of getting the distribution they wanted. The reply he received a few weeks later thanked him for his input and apologised for the lack of lime-based sweetmeats but explained that they do not believe there is sufficient market demand for individual packaging of the different flavours to justify the changes that would be necessary to their production process.

As expected, he was disappointed, but his spirits were lifted slightly by the free pack of Starburst included with the letter. It contained nothing but the green ones.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 1:22, 2 replies)
I upset the taxi drivers in Macclesfield
My workplace looks out over a little cul-de-sac in Macclesfield that is lined with double yellow lines, but has a small taxi rank thirty yards down the road that is opposite the Tesco Metro. Given its very close proximity to the town centre (30 seconds walk), the road is popular with disabled drivers and shoppers despite it being illegal to park there. It is also popular with taxi drivers that "extend" the rank size by around ten vehicles

Now the problem is that the number of available taxis outstrips the rank size by around 5 to 1. Add delivery bays for Tesco, M&S, Waterstones, Iceland and the Post Office in a reasonably narrow road and it is a recipe for disaster.

I have witnessed two people being mown down (none seriously) and a couple of traffic accidents. The final straw came when a taxi tore up the street and nearly knocked me over as he threw his car against the kerb (and double yellows). He (along with all the taxis) were ignored by the traffic wardens who patrol the town. Everyone got a ticket except the taxis.

So I complained to the Council. Who ignored me. So I hit them with two Freedom of Information Act requests and then emailed the top brass.

The result: menmedia.co.uk/manchestereveningnews/news/s/1121083_ten_roads_where_you_shouldnt_leave_your_car

Traffic Wardens enforced the rank size for around six to eight weeks thus upsetting all the taxi drivers. And the traffic was better and there was no accidents. You could cross the road without it being a free-for-all.

It is still better than it was now. Unfortunately the council has decided to extend the rank up the street so it will go back to being shit again.

But a small victory for all of us against the taxi drivers who think the law doesn't apply to them.
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 0:33, 4 replies)
Bad Landlords
Since I haven't posted the last few months' of my life here, I'll fill the lot of you in.

I was flown out here to Iowa in November for an interview for an international tech company (so big the word 'International' is part of their name). I called and e-mailed the recruiter for updates after my interview, trying to see how things went. After receiving no updates I gave up and got another job in December which then I lost in February. During this time I moved closer to the job as the 30-mile each-way trip was hurting me financially. I began the job hunt again. In early March, I had a water pipe in my new place burst in the bathroom wall, which I noticed early and had fixed that night. However the new landlords did not fix the damage to the wall or shower (which had to be partially torn out to fix the pipe). This lasted until said original company sent me an offer in late April.

Now, for the story to begin.

Having prior knowledge of California tenant laws, I informed the landlords that my apartment had become uninhabitable (using that very specific word) due to the damage and the mold & mildew problem that had started as of late. I filled the manager-on-duty in on the situation completely, telling her of the damage and the current state of the apartment. She told me she'd look into it and the next day I got a call (which went to my voicemail) informing me that I would pay a penalty.

Rather than calling them back, I went into their office again. This time, I put my phone down and started a recording (which I still have) and explained the situation again. I asked if the maintenance person was on their staff and responsible, and was answered in the affirmative. I then outlined the sections of the civil code, in a calm, respectful voice, and what my rights were in this situation. The manager still indicated that I hadn't informed them of the damage and that I never asked them to come in and fix it (which is bullshit as their staff did know about it, and they can come in to fix it as long as they post notice). I also gave them notification that I would be leaving, as a simple courtesy, since I did not require to give them any notice by law, but I was being nice in doing so.

I left between April and May, moved out to the midwest, and settled in on my new job. A few weeks ago, I received an e-mail from a "collection specialist" at the property management that owned the apartment complex where I lived at:


I am writing in regards to the balance due on your account for the unit you vacated at Mesa Village. There is a past due balance of $x,xxx.xx. Please contact me before September 7, 2010 to make payment arrangements or set up a payment plan if necessary so that we can prevent this account from being assigned to a collection agency.

I can be reached between 10am & 7pm Tuesday - Saturday at 818.227.2167. Alternatively, you can fill out and return the attached payment voucher form and I will process the payment to a card of your choice.

If I don't hear from you by the above date this account can be sent to collections with no further communication from this office.

Thank you,

Kristy R. Graham
Collection Specialist
Essex Management Corporation

I contacted the "collection specialist" about a week and a half ago, asking her how much she knew about the issue at hand, and, as I suspected, she simply had the account dumped on her with no real details given. I, once again, calmly explained the situation from start to finish (with no details about my new job given), and cited the relevant sections of the civil code that protected me. She took it down and told me that she would contact her supervisor to see what was going on. I thanked her and hung up.

Next day, she calls me. She gets very loud and tries to brow-beat me, essentially saying the same thing the property managers said except in a more loud and condescending tone. I try to argue, and she constantly cuts me off and talks over me. I all but laugh at her attempts to intimidate me, even citing both the picture evidence I have of the mold & mildew damage and the voice recording of the property manager admitting to knowing about the damage but not fixing it for a month and a half. She responds to the latter by asking me if I told them that I was recording them.
"No, I didn't."
"Well since you recorded them without their permission that's illegal."
"No it's not, since it's a public area there's no expectation of privacy."
"Well, I don't want to argue the details with you."
I had to restrain from laughing at her last statement, a pathetic attempt of not admitting that she was wrong and trying to assume the high road. I ended the call by asking for her supervisor to call me so I could settle this with someone with authority. She agreed to do so and I hung up.

Well, as you can tell by the date, I haven't heard anything yet. I'm going to call tomorrow and leave a nice message informing them that I haven't heard back from them yet, and if I don't hear back from them I'll be getting a lawyer and going from there.

The real beauty of this is that with the evidence I have, it's a slam-dunk in court to have the charges removed. Even better, if this does go to court, I can also invite other tenants (who I am on very good relations with, side moral of the story: be a good neighbor) to let in health and building inspectors to have a look-see. Estimated charges to the property managers due to health and building code violations? Over $50k. Media and press can also be called in, and thanks to the power of spin, make the property management look like a robbing, greedy, backstabbing arsehat. The potential damaged caused by current tenants moving out and future tenants not moving in? Can't tell. :D

The real moral of this story? Know your rights. As a gun owner, I have a particular phrase that I keep handy: "Know your rights. Knowledge is more powerful than any bullet."
(, Tue 7 Sep 2010, 0:12, 3 replies)
Bloody minded persistence pays off
Was out with some friends in the earlier part of the noughties when we ended up in Glastonbury's only (it's since been closed) nightclub - Heroes. So large was the establishment that they used mirrors to make it look twice the size if you were too drunk to notice the illusion, which we were.

Anyway we go to get our coats, and a friend (We shall call him T, for that is his first initial) finds his gurners have gone missing during the course of the evening.

Now a lesser man would have acknowledged the error of their ways and been grateful that the staff had simply chosen to pinch said substances rather than call the police, but not our hero.

There is only one person in charge of the cloakroom, and in a feat of bravery he begins to drunkenly break the poor girl's resolve - "look, we both know that you've got them..."

What seems like hours later (but is actually 20 about minutes) the girl gives in and returns the goods. If my memory serves me correctly she told him to fuck off as she did so.
(, Mon 6 Sep 2010, 23:07, 8 replies)
life is too short for complaining unless it is really worth it.

can i get a refund on this QOTW?
(, Mon 6 Sep 2010, 23:00, 5 replies)
One fine day...
I was reading the letters page of the local newspaper and this old fart had written in and was having a proper go at the toilet paper company. He said that it was scandalous that so many sheets would be wasted while he ripped through the bog roll to get to his first sheet. What an utter bellend nonce fuckwit bog brush excuse for a person I thought. He actually took the time to complain about something that costs mere fucking pennies.

Later that day I could hardly contain my excitement as a package popped through the door from Nestle. My meticulously crafted letter sent to them in a disgusted tone for my less than impressive 30p kit kat had earned me some free choccies. Yeah, fuck you nestle. You're my bitch now.
(, Mon 6 Sep 2010, 22:43, 3 replies)
I complain a lot
I believe, quite simply, that if a company says it is going to do something for you it should do it. You are paying good money after all. If they dont deliver then it is time for a polite complaint.

To cut a long story short I am constantly on the look out for a potential complaint. I never fabricate anything! However, if it is possible to emphasise, embellish, dare I say even exaggerate I generally lean towards my more creative side.

If it is a big company (for examople if it is national, has a large turnover, if they can afford tv advertising, is not privately owned) I will bite and not let go until I get something substantial.

I have honed my skills over the years to the extent that I handle complaints for family, friends, colleagues, sometimes even taking referrals where I end up dealing with complaints for people I dont know.

I enjoy it. I feel it is a public service which keeps businesses on their toes. I remain polite, firm and persistent. Generally I push for things to be escalated again and again until I reach someone who is paid so much that it makes better sense for them to cut a cheque for £X rather than spend X hours trying to deal with it.

I have kept track for the last three and a half years on a spreadsheet. If you add up all the full refunds, part refunds, vouchers, discounts, good will gestures, zero charge issues and upgrades I am currently responsible for taking a chunk out of the economy to the tune of £15,123.33. Although I am currently awaiting reply from a large DIY supplier which could benefit my Uncle's friend by £325. Onwards and upwards.

(, Mon 6 Sep 2010, 22:14, 12 replies)
Not quite me complaining...
I work as a waiter in quite a well-to-do restaurant near Northampton. Obviously, receiving and dealing with complaints is part of the job.

Now, we have a certain dish called called 'Pan-seared hot smoked salmon'. Basically, we have a fillet of smoked salmon and sear it on both sides for a few seconds, then serve on a bed of salad etc etc.

On day, a gentleman with his family of wife and daughter walk in for a celebratory lunch, for his daughter had just received her degree (from the internationally reknowned University of Northampton no doubt). This girl proceeds to order the aforementioned dish, surely drooling in anticipation of sinking her teeth into the tasty morsel.

I take the food out to their table, place it down, tell them that I hope they enjoy their meal and walk off. Now, standard practise was to wait a couple of minutes before going back to the table and checking that everything as alright. No sooner had I walked away from the table, I was called back by the father, protesting that his wonderful daughter's fish was not cooked. I apologised and took it back to the chef who proceeded to swear alot and cook a fillet of *smoked* salmon through.

I took it back, apologised again and went on my merry way. Until I was called back by an ngry father, again saying it was not cooked. I had to tell him that it was, in fact, smoked, a form of cooking. The mother butted in at this point, telling me to, and I quote 'Be very careful, he's in catering.' Obviously, running a burger van is a form of catering. I once again took it back to the chef and he obliterated it. Very happy. Wham bam fuck off you cunts.

The daughter never uttered a word throughout all of this.

Ignorance is bliss apparently
(, Mon 6 Sep 2010, 20:24, 20 replies)
Stacey your days are numbered
So I'm tucking into a nice boiled ham and tatties (a weeks' meal for £5)(thanks T. for the recipe)and I get an unsolicited call on my mobile from '3' the mobile phone Newtwork (Edit: that was a spelling mistake but I've decided to leave it; it suits)

"Hi it's Stacey here, I'm just ringing to offer you..."


(reading from her script) "oh it will probably come from the electoral role or from reputable companies that you have done business with"

I consider telling her I do no business with 'reputable' companies but explain instead that I am on the private non-public electoral role and that this mobile number is a special one, used for extreme emergencies only and I am infact I'm just waiting for an important call regarding a very sick relative who is dying...

Stacey: "oh I can't tell you where we got your number, anyway I'd just like to run through our special offe...."


Stacey: "Er..no I don't know actually...I just come into work in the morning, take my coat off and put my headphones on and start wo..."


Stacey:"er...well actually that isn't my personal life that's my..."


Stacey:"er...I dont' know...er..no....er yes maybe we did"

Spit:(getting angry)"..................."

Stacey:"how about I remove your details from our system?"

Spit: "thankyou very much...I am so sorry for spoiling your lovely day at work"

Stacey:"oh no..my day could never be spoiled by people like YOU"

Spit: "........(spluttering with rage).......WHAT!!!!?"


I have just rung the number she called me on, spoken to customer services and the very-nice-young-man has assured me they will be tracking down Stacey and giving her a stiff talking to!

I think they will proably sack her...and probably make her write a personel letter of apology to me...on perfumed paper.


Incidentaly they got my number by randomly generating the last 6 numbers after the general mobile phone code.

What did she mean by "people like me" ????
(, Mon 6 Sep 2010, 20:04, 40 replies)
i don't always complain as much as i should
such as the time the cunt of a shop assistant down the road called me a "fat fucking thief" and accused me of stealing pools coupons to give to another shop down the road, run by "those black bastards", as she called them.
i hadn't stolen anything
pools coupons are free
it was a girl with a similar name that had been taking them for her sick dad
the shop assistant was a nasty, racist cunt
within half an hour, i was asked to go back to the shop as she'd been told she had to apologise. i told them i'd rather rim a dead walrus. i wasn't going down there for a begrudged apology that she'd been ordered to give me. if i'd been thinking clearly, i'd have sued the bitch.

but i stayed home and played my honda accordion instead.
(, Mon 6 Sep 2010, 19:33, 3 replies)

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