Dickhead E: TalkTalk (lots of crap)

Dear Peter Marnoch and various other useless TalkTalk twats,

I refer to you recent letter in which you attempted to ‘close’ my complaint about TalkTalk cutting off my phone line and disposing of my number. From the very beginning, you’ve been fishing for any weasily excuse to limit TalkTalk's liability and/or dismiss my claim. What I was expecting was a decent offer of compensation, not an insulting offer of free line rental and £30, which is only slightly preferable to having a dog shit in my mouth.

Let me restate the events leading up to my complaint and your response so far. On the 27th September, I called TalkTalk to inform you that I was moving home on October 11th. As usual, my call was redirected to a third world call centre and I was told that I could have my old number redirected to a new number. I called again on October 10th to check the status of my order and was again assured by one of your third world operatives that my old phone number would redirected. I then called a third time the day after I moved, and was assured again by a highly skilled, call centre professional in Manilla that the redirection was working.

On Monday, October 14th TalkTalk cut off my old phone number of eight years. The number disappeared into a pool of used numbers and is irretrievable for 3 years. New and existing customers (mostly calling about high-value Christmas parties) could not reach my business via phone for several days until all instances of the old number on the internet were updated.

You (a slimy prick) offered me an ‘apology’ and a month’s free line rental. I wrote back and further explained how TalkTalk's negligence had potentially cost my business several thousand pounds. You (now in the form a hissing, slithering prick) offered me two months free line rental and £30. I called you and left a message telling you to go fuck yourself.

You then ‘closed’ my complaint on the spurious grounds that I asked for an amount of compensation which exceeded the Ombudsman’s jurisdiction! At no point did you explain how three different customer service representatives of ShitTalk offered me non-existent services on three separate occasions. You dismissed this as 'agent error’. However the truth is that in ShitTalk’s ruthless pursuit of profits, service quality has been sacrificed to employ cheap, dehydrated boneheads in developing countries. The result of your low-cost strategy is that customers suffer avoidable mistakes, such as the one which cost my business several thousand pounds. And rather than employ properly-waged, capable staff, ShitTalk has chosen to employ a team of slippery, poisonous pricks (like you) to try and silence affected customers with paltry compensation offers.

Whilst free line rental might represent a lot of money to the global network of malnourished muppets you employ, it is a grossly inadequate offer of compensation for what your negligent telecommunications sweatshop cost my business. However, as you closed my complaint, withdrew your ‘generous' offer and declared your position final, I’ll pursue my compensation claim through the Ombudsman. Let me know by COB Friday if you can find it in your multimillion-pound profit margins to make me a decent settlement offer. And no, I won’t consider offers of food stamps or a sack of rice.

Lastly douchebag, let me explain why you are not suited to a job in customer service. Although working as a glorified call-centre drone was the best you could do after failing your GCSEs and turning to heroine, your problem is that you have zero cultural appreciation of what service actually is. It’s not because you're an idiot (although that doesn’t help), it’s because you’re Scottish. Your appreciation of what constitutes ‘quality’ is no different to that of a dog, as is your life expectancy.

And if you ever, ever, ever give me one of your fake, hollow, cuntstomer service apologies again, I'll send someone to find you and punch you so hard that your teeth will end up orbiting the earth. Now go and have the deep-fried half-tin of Pal in your lunchbox.

Fuck you kindly,

Pete Jonas