Archive for January 8th, 2007

This (http://youtube.com/watch?v=fclYmVaORbM), believe it or not, is painfully close to the truth.  People in advertising genuinely believe they are of a higher race – the rest of us can easily be confused!

Paul Johnson

Sometimes hope is a very stupid thing.  And sometimes hope makes you DO very stupid things.  It’s down to hope that I’ve just spend an eyewatering 15 minutes writing a letter that will not be read.

NatWest, a UK bank, have my business account.  With a business account comes a business banker.  My business banker is shit. S.H.I.T.

The one appointment (just one) we had he failed to turn up for.  He also failed to apologise for his no-show.

He has never once been in the NatWest branch when I go in and ask, rather innocently, whether there are any business bankers available.  Six days ago I went into the branch (he wasn’t there) and asked if someone could contact any NatWest business bankers to talk to me about a mystery charge on my account.  An urgent message was sent to my business banker (who I was told was in all week).  The more pig-shit stupid out there might be surprised to find out that he hasn’t bothered to call me. 

Wondering if my business banker actually existed I went to the NatWest today to find out who his boss was – I was going to let them know how I was being treated.  After a wait of 25 minutes someone came back to me with a name and address.  When I looked at the pre-printed leaflet and saw the title of the person who was to receive my letter was called a ‘Customer Relations Manager’ – I realised there and then Natwest were, in a subtle and corporate way, telling me to take a flying fuck …

I can picture the office of the Customer Relations Manager right now – the mail (including mine) is handed out to assorted smug and sweaty tossers who spend a good 15 minutes licking the ink off the letters and then wiping their greasy arses with them before finally throwing them out of a window in to a muddy field full of starving geese.  The geese greedily gobble them up and (as the customer relations managers laugh so hard their eyes bleed) squeal as they shit out pellets of grey sludge that once formed an emotionally written complaints letter.  The geese are fed on mountains of letters before being slaughtered for Christmas and given as gifts to all those staff who ‘care for customers’.

Customers relations managers – fuck off.  Take your reeking excuse for caring about your clients and rub salt in its eyes – stamp on it – and then stand back and piss all over while singing ‘Roll out the Barrel’. 

You don’t give a crap about me, my business or whether you have and relationship with me.  I’d happy with that.  I just want to use a bank.  But please, please get this in to your balding kernel – don’t pretend you care about me.  It’s insulting.  It’s not true.  And that’s the reason you won’t be doing anything about my letter of complaint short of sending me a thanks-for-your-feedback,-we-really-welcome-it-and-are-constantly-striving-to-improve-style circular. You, me and every other poor soul who is moronic enough to expect better know it’s your way of saying fuck off.