My name is Ben Myers

My name is Ben Myers.

Hello and welcome to my blog. Here I shall post stories, links to articles I have written and poems about the noise gravel makes underfoot, depending upon the season and the choice of footwear.

(Like the world needs another blogger….)

To start things off here is a letter I have just posted to British Telecommunications, the UK’s largest phone company. I gingerly await a response.

Incidentally, if you’re a prospective publisher visiting for the first time, do come back. Things will get better. In November I intend to publish a story about some parakeets, and in December I might write something about fiscal policy or the Norwegian black metal scene, depending upon public opinion. I promise to use as an irreverent and pithy tone as the moden world demands.




7 -------- Road
Nunhead
London
SE15

October 7 2007

Dear British Telecom,

As a long-term BT customer I am writing to you to let you know that as of now I terminating my phone, internet and e-mail account with you. In fact, despite your employers desperate pleas (who actually said “Please, please just give us one more chance, Mr Myers”), I already have cancelled all my connections.

My reasons for this are that I am dissatisfied with the services that you provide.

I find the costs of your phone calls, line-rental and extra charges far too expensive. The ‘money-saving packages’ I been persuaded to engage in by your sales people are useless and save me no money whatsoever. My latest phone bill amounted to £56, yet with my basic broadband costs, it came to £196.

Furthermore, your e-mail connections are unreliable and your help-lines at best unhelpful, at worst inoperable. When my e-mail address recently refused to work I was advised to “take your computer to a computer shop”, even though everything about it works fine otherwise, including the pornography. The e-mail still doesn’t work today though.

I find your phone systems intolerable and can rarely get through to your operators. Though I’m sure your employers are all very nice people (in fact I know they are as my friend Dave used to work for you – perhaps you remember him?), without wishing to sound like a Daily Mail reader, I can’t always tell what your operators are saying. They, of course, could say the same about me, being as I a) mumble and b) am a Geordie, but this is why I choose to sit at home writing long-winded letters of complaint, rather than being a help-line operator. You have to play to your strengths, and guiding people thousands of miles away through their phone bill in a second language is not one of mine.

Maybe it is nothing to do with language differences whatsoever. Maybe your employees are just really thick (as in stupid)?

I even find your hold music offensive. No-one should have to listen to kabuki interpretations of Celine Dion songs. May I instead suggest a little jazz, dub reggae or British folk music in future? Or perhaps some Black Sabbath (but Ozzy Osbourne-era only please. I’ve really never much cared for Ronnie James Dio’s strangulated yelp)?

I could catalogue the comedy of errors that have been my attempts to communicate with you – half an hour on hold here, forty minutes there – but I have better things to do than write words here that will no doubt make it up onto your notice board of ‘wacky’ or ‘eccentric’ BT customers throughout the ages. I’m not eccentric just really annoyed at a service whose rates are – let’s face it – not exactly competitive. I’d rather shoot myself in the cock with a blunderbuss than give you a penny more.

Blunderbusses tend to fire shrapnel. Consider for a moment, if you will, how much that would hurt. Shrapnel in your cock. Have you done that? Great. That’s what attempting to communicate with British Telecommunications is like. In fact the blunderbuss/cock option is preferable to speaking to your company.

I’ve given you many chances BT, but not any more.

Good bye.


Ben Myers