Light Me Up!

A couple of weeks ago I decided to engage in a little winter time grilling. I had not had BBQ chicken for quite sometime, and decided that my taste bud’s urge for this particular fowl would be satiated on this evening. I happily hummed to myself as I retrieved the charcoal from my closet, and poured it into the grill’s awaiting pit. I stacked the briquettes as instructed into a small pyramid (although I have tried many a time, unsuccessfully, to recreate a 1:132 scale replica of the Taj Mahal out of charcoal lumps. I would be eternally indebted to anyone who has had success with such a venture and is able to send me a complete set of schematic drawings). I then attempted to light the charcoal, but they refused to ignite. I even attempted to place some paper underneath the charcoal to get it going, but to no avail. I eventually had to admit defeat, and resorted to cooking the chicken in the oven.

After eating my dried-out oven-baked yard bird, and feeling quite disgruntled about not being able to use my grill, I pondered the idea of authoring a scathing correspondence to the maker of this disappointing product. I then thought better of this, and decided that the optimum results would be obtained by using the transparent management technique they teach at every single supervisor/manager training: Start with a positive, follow up with a concern. “Gee Bob, thanks for coming in today. So, I really like how you sharpen your pencils in such an efficient manner, however you are not allowed to randomly punch transients while wearing your work uniform. Your being demoted. Have a good weekend.” I adapted this technique to my letter by raving about the all the positive aspects of the product and my past successful experiences with their brand of charcoal. I then followed up my compliments by deftly deflecting all the excuses they would potentially give as to why the product may no longer be working as intended. The product was only approximately six months all old, I had kept the product out of inclement weather (specifically rain) and had kept the package tightly closed as instructed (by the way, all of this was true. I was not attempting in any way to defraud this company, and believed I truly had a defective product). I then explained the problems I was experiencing, and thanked the company for considering my letter. I did not ask for reimbursement for the product, although I would be lying if I was not secretly hoping for some type of monetary compensation, along with a personal letter of apology from the president of the company and the firing of all line staff involved in the production of my specific bag of inferior charcoal nuggets.

Today, I went to the mailbox, and was ecstatic to find therein an envelope from the charcoal maker. I eagerly opened the envelope and out fell a coupon for a gratis bag of charcoal. I thought to myself how awesome it was that there were still companies out there that put customers first and cared about making a quality product. My joyful revelation quickly turned first to confusion over the absurdity of a portion of their response letter, followed soon after by the emotionally devastating pain most commonly endured by a jilted lover. An excerpt of the letter reads as follows: “We’re sorry to hear about your recent issue with the charcoal not lighting. Please be assured that this is very unusual and we would not expect this to occur. We are happy to enclose a coupon for reimbursement.” OK, I have two comments. 1) Do you really have to say you would not expect your product to be defective? Are other companies actually sending out responses to complaint letters that say things like “Your letter means a lot to our company. We purposefully do not securely attach the heads to our hammers in the hopes that they will break loose mid-swing and fly into the unprotected foreheads of unsuspecting handymen like you described in your letter. Mission accomplished!” or “Thank you for using our condoms. They failed as we had planned. Congratulations on your impending bundle of joy.” 2) The second comment that “this is very unusual” implies that I must be lying, but they aren’t going to come right out and say that. The translation of the second and third sentences is quite clear: “We don’t believe a damn word you are saying, and full well know that you are just claiming to have had a problem with your perfectly adequate charcoal in the hopes you will get a coupon for a free bag of charcoal. Well, here is your free coupon. We hope you choke on your next grilled meal, and will be maniacally laughing at your funeral.” I can just see it now. This company has probably made a folder with my name on it, along with my alleged fraudulent complaint inside, and a descriptor stamped in large red lettering on the outside “Suspect Complainer”. Now I know how Hester Prynne felt.