Dear Mr
Beef,
I hope you
don't mind me calling you 'Mr Beef', by the way?
Unless, of course, you prefer 'mate' or 'Sonny Jim', as you have seen fit to
refer to me over the last couple of months.
Anyway, I
digress.
As you
know, I put an order in for the office to be furnished with a new set of plush
office chairs. You know the ones? They go up and down when you hit a lever,
swivel when propelled, and have an adjustable back so that I and my colleagues
can sit at our desks without the risk of backache, RSI or death.
Imagine my
surprise then, when upon receiving my order of twelve 'Super Plush 2000', that
as well as having the above functions, they also came with a couple of added
extras such as the farting noise that occurs every time you sit down, or the
very special 'collapse in a heap' when anyone so much as breathes near it.
 |
| Super Plush 2000 |
At first I
thought it was a mistake. Surely these were design faults that your company
would rectify with immediate effect, but no. According to 'Emily', your Sales
Assistant and Rottweiler, the chairs collapsed because people were sitting down
too hard, and the noises occurred, not because your chairs were shit, but
because some of the people sitting down probably needed to take one.
Now, Emily
may have found the image of me falling on my arse during a planning meeting
amusing. She may also have guffawed loudly as I described how, upon sitting in
one of your chairs, the Senior Director interrupted an important financial
address with a loud ripping sound emanating from her backside. But I, Mr Beef,
was not impressed.
So how have
we been coping since your company refused to take responsibility for your
faulty products?
To my team
and me, the Super Plush 2000 is no mere office chair. They are like landmines,
to be treated delicately and with fear in case they suddenly go off. It's
ludicrous to expect us to tiptoe around the office in case a chair falls apart,
or for my managers to slowly, but tentatively, take a seat in case it starts
parping at them.
I once had
a meeting with my manager. In she came, all important and stern, 'we need to
talk about future projects, and the budget for next year' she said using her
best bossy voice, sitting down.
PARRRRRP!!!
In
that instant, her authority was destroyed and she spent the next half an
hour telling me that it wasn't her but the chair, despite my reassurances that
I understood. My chair then broke under me and I disappeared beneath her desk.
What do you
have to say for yourself, Mr Beef? Hmmm?
Nothing, I
bet. Each time I complain it's, 'Now don't blame the chairs, mate' or 'It's not
our fault, Sonny Jim'.
I'm so
angry about the situation that I need to sit down.
PARRRPPP!!!!
Yours,
Aggrieved
