The customer abuse column

by Adriana Glottal-Stoppe

Hi, Bellyachers,

Yes, it's me again, eager to expose your niggling little grouses, and champing at the bit to let the whole of Malta know what small-minded, petty people you are.

So let's start with a typically truly gruesome gripe:

Not so white goods

Dear Friend-to-all (Oh pleeeze, I'm a person, not a bar... AGS),

I am so distressed. Last Thursday... or was it Friday? No, tell a lie, it was Tuesday, I bought a fridge... that's short for refrigerator, somewhere to keep food cold. (I know what a bloody fridge is, get on with it!...AGS)

Anyway, my new fridge was delivered to my home the day before yesterday, Sunday... No, can't have been Sunday... (For God's sake, just get on with it, OK? AGS). When I inspected it in my kitchen... I was intending to put it where the cooker used to be; well, it was about the same size and height. Now I expect you are wondering where we put the cooker? (No, not really, I'm about to drop off actually). We put it in the bit of the kitchen we'd built on to the back of the house, actually.

So when I took a good look at my pristine new, shiny white fridge... I discovered that it had quite a large dent in the door. Not only that, when I switched it on... nothing happened. On closer inspection I discovered that it totally lacked a compressor or any means whatsoever of making it do what it was supposed to. Not surprisingly this rather upset me... and my wife, not to mention the cat, who has left home in low dudgeon and hasn't been seen since.

Do you think I have a strong case to take the suppliers to court?

Yours expectationally,
G. Cassar (Mr)
San Gwann.

I replied thus:

To come straight to the point.

No, you have no case at all, none whatsoever. You went shopping for white goods, right. And what you were sold was a white refrigerator... not a blue one or an orange one, a white W-H-I-T-E refrigerator. So you have absolutely no leg to stand on. The shopkeeper kept his side of the bargain... so p**s off and stop wasting my time.

And how's this for a warped sense of values?

From Ms E. Pace Preziosi of San Gwann:

Dear saviour of my sanity (You have got to be joking... AGS)

Please tell me I'm not going mad (Don't hold your breath...AGS). I recently joined what was described in the brochure as a health club at one of our leading hotels. The joining fee and year's subscription topped the Lm200 mark, so it wasn't cheap. (So, what's your problem?... AGS)

Before my first visit to the Bulging Biceps Fitness Centre I even purchased a brand new leotard... shiny petrol blue, skin-tight fabric, to show off my pert little bum. (Spare us the commercial... AGS) On arrival at the Bulging Biceps, I discovered that the ladies' changing room was locked, so I had to change in the men's room... in front of three large, leering... men. And, despite the fact that I was obliged to stand in front of them completely nude, not one of them actually made a move to molest me. Do you think I'd be entitled to ask for my money back?

My reply went like this:

Don't waste your time, it's obvious to me that that pert little bum you allude to is not as bloody pert as you like to think. Either that or the three guys who forebore to roger you, were all gay. Cut your losses, dear, and join a flower arranging class.

On a positive note

My faithful readers may recall the polemic engendered by a certain A.J. Tanti from San Gwann, concerning a second-hand car he purchased from Clapped-Out Cars of San Gwann.

Upon taking delivery of said vehicle, this Tanti plonker apparently discovered the air-con didn't work, the indicators didn't indicate, the clutch was burnt out, there were no brakes... or even a handbrake, the gears were permanently stuck in reverse and the cigar lighter sprayed water instead of fire.

In my omnipotent capacity as righter of wrongs, I duly wrote to the proprietor of Clapped-Out Cars, to ask for an explanation.

He replied as follows:

"Get stuffed!"

Well, that's alright then.