Sunday, September 04, 2011

Slept badly yesterday due to an unsettled belly and met up with 2 friends who were delicate due to a boozy night. They'd had 11% proof ale. I'd had dodgy mayonnaise.

We went to quite a fancy Italian restaurant and I had scrambled egg which felt like such a waste of their skills. I treated it like an A1 cafe. Scrambled egg is not one of the things I'm excellent at (dumplings, banoffee mess, frosties). I once had a scrambled egg competition with my sister where she prepared lovely fluffy yellow eggs in a pan and I produced a lump of heavy grey egg from a microwavable measuring jug. Mine was faster though so I won.

Belly is better now, it was only tiny sickness not one of those bouts where the silver lining is being able to get into smaller trousers.

I was tired and docile yesterday just wandering around Paperchase touching pads and sniffing pens and working out if I need any more post-it notes or map tacks. I bought a new notepad, a diary for 2012 and a postcard of a knitted penguin. Shopping list fulling ticked.

I didn't complain about anything yesterday which is something I've discovered I'm very good at. Complaining to companies was always something I left to other people. My sister can write a killer letter which frightens companies into giving us vouchers to ease the stress we incurred over whatever the professional mishap was. My fella is wonderfully awkward when companies don't play by the rules. He can quote legalise and I find it such a turn on. I've always just voted with my feet. Someone treats be badly, I'll just not go back. Not any more. (That sounds like a trailer for a terrible film where a woman asks to speak to a manager and then gets a credit note).

It started a month ago when I emailed a shop about their treatment of my mother, then in the last week I have complained on the phone to 2 estate agents and an airline. I make notes before the call and in order to get the anger back, I tell a friend all about it before getting on the blower. Good to get the heart pumping. I don't raise my voice, I don't swear, I just explain the problem and wait. Just telling someone I am unhappy with their service and asking what they're going to do about it, is incredibly satisfying. Like a big shit. More so when I win. Like a big shit with a sparkler in it.

I'm not going to go out and actively look for things to complain about but I will now give companies a chance to keep me as a customer. They get to make amends and I feel alive. Can't be bad. Now to write a letter to those who gave me the dodgy mayonnaise. Dear My fridge...

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