</head> <div style="position: absolute; left:50"> <br /> British Letter of Complaint<br /> ===========================<br /> <br /> What follows is an example of British humour in<br /> a complaint letter sent sent to a British ISP. The<br /> piece suggests two things:<br /> <br /> 1) Americans and Canadians are not the only ones<br /> who get poor service from their ISP, cable or alarm<br /> companies. (NTL is a cable operator in Britain).<br /> <br /> 2) The Brits probably write the world's best<br /> letters of complaint.<br /> <br /> Dear Cretins,<br /> <br /> I have been an NTL customer since 9th July 2001, when I<br /> signed up for your four-in-one deal for cable TV, cable<br /> modem, telephone, and alarm monitoring. During this<br /> three-month period I have encountered inadequacy of<br /> service which I had not previously considered possible,<br /> as well as ignorance and stupidity of monolithic<br /> proportions. Please allow me to provide specific<br /> details, so that you can either pursue your<br /> professional prerogative and seek to rectify these<br /> difficulties -- or more likely (I suspect) so that you<br /> can have some entertaining reading material as you<br /> while away the working day smoking, and drinking<br /> vendor-coffee on the bog in your office.<br /> <br /> My initial installation was cancelled without warning,<br /> resulting in my spending an entire Saturday sitting on<br /> my arse waiting for your technician to arrive. When he<br /> did not arrive, I spent a further 57 minutes listening<br /> to your infuriating hold music, and the even more<br /> annoying Scottish robot woman telling me to look at<br /> your helpful website. HOW? I alleviated the boredom by<br /> playing with my testicles for a few minutes -- an<br /> activity at which you are no doubt both familiar and<br /> highly adept. The rescheduled installation then took<br /> place some two weeks later, although the technician<br /> did forget to bring a number of vital tools -- such<br /> as a drill-bit, and his cerebrum. Two weeks later, my<br /> cable modem had still not arrived. After 15 telephone<br /> calls over four weeks my modem arrived, six weeks after<br /> I had requested, and begun to pay for it. I estimate<br /> your internet server's downtime is roughly 35% -- the<br /> hours between about 6pm and midnight, Monday through<br /> Friday, and most of the weekend.<br /> <br /> I am still waiting for my telephone connection. I<br /> have made nine calls on my mobile to your no-help line,<br /> and have been unhelpfully transferred to a variety of<br /> disinterested individuals who are, it seems, also<br /> highly skilled bollock jugglers. I have been informed<br /> that a telephone line is available (and someone will<br /> call me back); that I will be transferred to someone<br /> who knows whether or not a telephone line is available<br /> (and then been cut off); that I will be transferred to<br /> someone (and then been redirected to an answering<br /> machine informing me that your office is closed); that<br /> I will be transferred to someone and then been<br /> redirected to the irritating Scottish robot woman, and<br /> several other variations on this theme.<br /> <br /> Doubtless you are no longer reading this letter, as you<br /> have at least a thousand other dissatisfied customers<br /> to ignore, and also another one of those crucially<br /> important testicle moments to attend to. Frankly I<br /> don't care. It's far more satisfying as a customer to<br /> voice my frustrations in print than to shout them at<br /> your unending hold music. Forgive me, therefore, if I<br /> continue.<br /> <br /> I truly thought British Telecom was shit, and they<br /> had attained the holy piss-pot of god-awful customer<br /> relations; and that no one, anywhere, ever, could be<br /> more disinterested, less helpful or more obstructive to<br /> delivering service to their customers. That's why I<br /> chose NTL, and because, well, there isn't anyone else<br /> is there? How surprised I therefore was, when I<br /> discovered to my considerable dissatisfaction and<br /> disappointment what a useless shower of bastards you<br /> truly are. You are sputum-filled pieces of distended<br /> rectum incompetents of the highest order.<br /> <br /> BT -- wankers though they are -- shine like brilliant<br /> beacons of success in the filthy mire of your seemingly<br /> limitless inadequacy. Suffice to say that I have now<br /> given up on my futile and foolhardy quest to receive<br /> any kind of service from you. I suggest that you cease<br /> any potential future attempts to extort payment from me<br /> for the services which you have so pointedly and<br /> catastrophically failed to deliver. Any such activity<br /> will be greeted initially with hilarity and disbelief<br /> and will quickly be replaced by derision, and even<br /> perhaps bemused rage.<br /> <br /> I enclose two small deposits, selected with great<br /> care from my cat's litter tray, as an expression of my<br /> utter and complete contempt for both you and your<br /> pointless company. I sincerely hope that they have not<br /> become desiccated during transit -- they were<br /> satisfyingly moist at the time of posting, and I would<br /> feel considerable disappointment if you did not<br /> experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture.<br /> Consider them the very embodiment of my feelings<br /> towards NTL, and its worthless employees.<br /> <br /> Have a nice day. May it be the last in your miserable<br /> short lives, you irritatingly incompetent and<br /> infuriatingly unhelpful bunch of tw*ts.<br><br><br> </div> <body> </html>