Letters To Customer Service

Dear Target, 

Today, I bought a brand new pair of your beautiful, plush, sweats. I rushed home, took off the tags, threw them on, and cozied up to watch FENCES starring Denzel Washington. Why? Because I wanted to watch an American Tragedy. 

I DID NOT BARGAIN ON BECOMING ONE. 

The relationship between a woman and her most comfortable sweats is a sacred one. In many cases we wear our sweats when we’re at our most vulnerable: covered in a light dusting of Doritos. Our hair is up, our makeup is off, our defenses down. My sweatpants give me comfort, coverage, and occasionally serve as a napkin.

But not today. 

As Denzel was giving the best self-directed performance I’ve ever seen, I felt an airy current drift up my nether regions. “Confusing,” I thought. But returned back to the film. 

Then, as Viola Davis’ snot poured down her face while she “exhumed the dead,” I was interrupted by yet ANOTHER AIRY BREEZE.

Officially concerned. I sucked the Dorito dust from my fingers, placed my chips and dip on the coffee table, and paused the film to investigate my breezy bottom. What I discovered, no trusting woman would ever have suspected.

MY SWEATPANTS HAD RIPPED IN TWAIN DOWN MY CROTCH AND I HAD BEEN SITTING THERE WATCHING AUGUST WILSON’S FENCES WITH MY BEAVER TO THE BREEZE. 

Let me tell you what is awful: buying a brand new pair of pants, perfectly intact, taking off all their tags, sitting motionless on a couch, and having them disintegrate ON DAY ONE. This was a betrayal that only Viola’s character could understand. 

Dear ClassPass, 

I have seen people hit by cars. I have seen dead bodies beaten bloody. I have watched Donald Trump rise to presidential candidate. 

But I have never seen something as horrific as you raising your prices from $125 a month to $190 a month. A 100% increase from when I joined slightly over a year ago. 

That. Is. Brutality. That. Is. War. 

You, Classpass, are like a monkey who has broken into a liposuction factory. You have scrounged around in the dumpster, and pilfered fat pockets discarded in toxic waste. You have thrown those fat clumps in my face like it was your feces. You have shown me the fun side of fitness only to close the gates, fart in my face, and ask me to pay for the privilege.

While I weigh my options, here is a list of things I could do for $190 a month: 

- Buy 3 Nancy Drew Box Sets every month to give away to orphans 

- Throw away my underwear after every use because I can just buy new ones.

- Pay a prostitute to be my live-in chef

- Keep Classpass

- Follow Kevin Hart on tour 

So what will I choose, Classpass? You have cut a wound in me so deep that I do not know I can heal. Kevin Hart would never do that. Please, Fitness Gods, watch over your disciples in this time of strife, turmoil, and instability. 

Dear American Eagle,

I see why you're named after our national bird. It's because you're a national treasure.

A lot of women wouldn't assume that I, a late-20s-powerhouse-of-a-woman wears a line made for teens. But guess what? I do. And I've converted a lot of my friends. In fact, I talk about American Eagle so often that I think of myself as an unofficial ambassador for the brand. I take it so seriously, I may list it on my LinkedIn. 

But, since I'm sort of part of the company now, I need to tell you one think that irks me about you guys. After all, our company is only as great as its weakest link. 

How come your jeans fit differently based on their color? 

That doesn't make a LICK of sense. And, I know it's not just me, because I've found other complaints about this on your company's website.

To preface, you have to know my method for jeans purchases. When I find a pair of jeans that fit, I buy 3 million of them. That way, I can avoid another trip to the fitting room. I. Hate. Fitting. Rooms. Every time I go into one, I enter an alternate reality where I'm insecure. I sweat, dry heave, and stare into the mirror contemplating existence. This type of thing isn't good for anyone, especially the staff, who's waiting outside hearing grunting noises and soft sobs from a woman far too old to be their in the first place. 

When I find a pair, I buy them in all different colors to avoid doing the Fitting Room Shame Spiral, again.

Thank the lord, I found my perfect jeans at American Eagle. As promised, I bought a dozen, hauled them home, washed them, and then found out they all fit differently depending on color - not size? How come a High Rise Jegging in Black has baggy ankles, while a blue dark wash in the same cut has skinny ankles? How come a 10 in High Rise Jeggings fit me perfectly, while a 10 in regular Jeggings fit me like I'm stuffing a hard-boiled egg into a pair of nylons? 

HOW CAN I TRUST THIS?! HOW CAN I TRUST ANYONE AFTER THIS!?

So, tell me, you great bald avian wonder: what gives? 

Dear Mr. Madden,

I'm so MAD-den I could scream! (I'm kidding, it's not that big a deal, but I am bummed out.)

On September 21st, I purchased a pair of your TROOPAS from shoebuy.com. Now, here we are in February, not 5 short months later and there have been significant losses as far as these feet of mine are concerned. I haven't worn these shoes in the rain, in fact, I haven't worn them very much at all but the heel of the right boot is detaching from its leather counterpart! Just making a run for it!

Do you know who won't be making a run for it? Me! In these shoes!

Now, I don't want you to think I'm just complaining - I want you to know that I'm in your corner. In fact, I'm writing because I love Steve Madden as a company, and I'm assuming if I met Steve, I'd love him as a person too. In fact, the reason I bought these TROOPAS in the first place is because I actually had to replace my old ones which lasted through two long winters as my every-day shoe! These didn't even last 1/4 of that time!

But I'm not giving up yet. I can't. These are leather shoes - and you guys normally have great quality products. So, I ask you Steve Madden, what's the deal? What should I do with these TROOPAS of mine?

Thanks for your time,

Smello!  

Boy, do I love Voluspa candles. Today, however, I'm writing with distressing news. I wanted to reach out to you guys since you're the experts. 

I currently have a beautiful 12 oz Goji Tarocco Orange candle sitting on my dresser. When I received it on Christmas it was tough to open but with enough work I was able to crack it (I never give up.)  

I lit it once on a cold winter's night and got tons of compliments... but guess what? When I closed it back up the next day to store it away... it sealed back shut. I've tried can openers and everything I can to crack it back open but to no avail. 

Imagine? I'm standing in the kitchen with a can opener trying to pop open a candle like it's a beer? What a nut I must look like! Anything for my Voluspa.

Anyway, I wanted to see if you had any idea on how to help out the situation... Any thoughts? Any feelings? 

Thanks for your time, and your two (s)cents, 

Dear Shoe Buy,

Shoe Buy? More like Shoe Bye Bye! I kid - but the news I have is very distressing. 

I purchased this pair of TROOPAS from you on September 21st. Why? Because I love TROOPAS! In fact, I bought these to replace an old pair of mine I'd worn out over two long grueling New York winters. But guess what. This new pair of TROOPAS didn't have quite the fight in 'em that the old pair did. Because, it's February and the heel of my right boot has completely detached itself from the rest of my boot! I mean, what in the heel? 

I've always been a fan of shoes, but I've found the shoes are significantly more affective when the heel is on! (HAHA!) 

No, but seriously, these are leather boots - heels shouldn't be falling off. Anyway, bottom line is this, I'm worried and upset because I want to keep shopping at Shoe Buy! So, I look to you, as my beacon of hope in this silly and sticky situation. I'm always recommending you guys to my friends, so I hope we can make up with each other. I'm not giving up.

Thank you so much for your (heel) support! (Man, I'm a hoot.) 

Dear Chipotle, 

Like a Phoenix from its ashes. Like Muhammed Ali vs Joe Frazier. Like Robert Downey Jr after his whole drug debacle. CHIPOTLE HAS MADE A COMEBACK. 

Boy, you guys, way to go. 

Yesterday, my BFF and I went to Chipotle for our first time in a few months (since you-know-what-happened-with-your-stores-the-whole-like-e-coli-ew-thing-what-was-that-all-about?-poop-stuff-in-the-food?-jees) with our free burrito coupons. (Genius move by the way - we love free food. Like really love it.) 

We always loved to go to Chipotle together, and we were pumped to go back. WELL. GUESS. WHAT. It tasted great as usual, the service was awesome, and I'm just super proud of you guys for pulling it back together.  If I could stand outside the store and slow clap for an hour I would, but quite honestly, I'm just too cold to do that. 

Just wanted to tell you.

Congrats babes, congrats.

Hello!

This is a blog where I post letters that I’ve written to companies.

Remember how husbands would send their wives mail from the front lines of the Civil War? It’s sort of like that, except that I’m not married and I’m not in the Civil War, and all those people are dead now. So, ya snooze ya lose. 

I’m very much alive, single, not in the Civil War, and I buy lots of things from companies who don’t know who I am. 

If I’m happy with the company I send them a letter saying, “thanks and great job!” If I’m not, I send them a letter saying, “hey guys, shitty job this time but let’s pull together to see how we can remedy this!”  

It’s sort of like I’m pen pals with Corporate America. 

Sometimes she writes back and gives me free shit! And that’s great! And sometimes she doesn’t, and that’s fine too. Because we’re all just specks of dust on this giant twirling planet of ours. Except the corporations aren’t small specks, they are huge and have more rights than tiny humans. 

I’ve been writing letters like this for a while, and recently I’ve been sharing some with my friends who seem to think they’re goofy. So now I’m going to put them here. 

And don’t worry, I’m not a dick to customer service. I love customer service. In fact, I consider them friends.