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