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Dear @Telstra

2010
03.03

Dear @Telstra,

I’ve travelled a lot. Asia is one of my favourite places in the world, and even though I’m scared of volcanos, and don’t eat rice anymore, I was really looking forward to going back. Unfortunately, thanks to your inept call centres, I’ve spent more time this morning bouncing around between The Philippines and Australia than General Douglas Macarthur did in the entire Second World War. And unlike the Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in the Pacific, I’m vowing never to return.

Things started to go wrong a week ago when I tweeted for help.

@Telstra My Mobile Broadband account shows 6.1Gig usage over the last 4 months but the bill is waaaay higher. Something is wrong :( Help!

…was my cry. To be honest I wasn’t really expecting a response, but your Twitter profile does clearly say you were there to “provide Telstra customer support” during business hours so I figured what the hell.

I would have had more luck offering @aplusk a million dollars for a night with his wife.

A week later, and with no response, I decided to use the telephone. You are a telephone company after all. I figured if I talked to you on your terms, on your turf, in your natural habitat, you’d be more likely to be more helpful. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Granted, you’ve got a lot of departments but I figured phoning the number on my bill which was listed under both ‘Billing or service enquiries’ and ‘Fault reporting 24 hours’ would have been the right place to get help with my billing enquiry which related to a fault with your system. The first person I spoke to was a robot; she was about the most intelligent person I spoke to during the course of the conversation, and at least she understood what I was saying. The second person was a human, I forget his name but I suspect that within your employee rewards system he has won accolades for being the quickest palmer-offerer in the history of palm-offing. Jesus wasn’t this quick on Palm Sunday, and he had a donkey to do the leg work.

And that’s when my customer service experience really started to turn ugly. Actually, ugly is the wrong word. Ugly Betty is ugly, but she’s hot-ugly. I’d do her and I suspect that, should he find himself in the bathtub of the Cronulla Rydges Hotel one drunken evening with Ugly Betty and a few consenting adults, the first male Telstra worker I spoke to would do her too. Ugly is a term of endearment really. My customer service experience was distorted and inaudible. The second the line was transferred to the overseas faults department it became so fuzzy I swear Angus Young started using it for a lead guitar solo. Or maybe it was thunderstruck – there has been a lot of rain in Brisbane lately.

Unfortunately, the quality of the line wasn’t the worst part of the call. Just like an after hours employee sex-romp, my Telstra experience also ended up involving rather a lot of people. Six to be precise; not counting the robot. After the first chap put me through to the faults department, they put me through to Bigpond; Bigpond put me through to online support, online support put me back through to Bigpond and then Bigpond said it wasn’t their department and said I’d have to call the Billing and service enquiries number found on my bill. By this stage I was artfully dodging ear-splitting reception crackles which were being fired like bowling balls into my cochlea, but I managed to convince the Bigpond employee in downtown Manilla that this was in fact the number I had originally dialled. They apologised and put me through to a voice which sounded vaguely Australian.

And when I say ‘vaguely Australian’, I mean the voice did sound like it was coming from an Australian call centre, but that it was so vague and distant I might as well have been talking to the ghost of General Douglas Macarthur. I asked if he might possibly call me back, handed over my mobile phone number and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Eons came and went. The Presidency of the United States changed hands a number of times and peace was declared in the Middle East, but no call came.

Dear Telstra, I’d send you another tweet for help, but according to your software I’ve now used 6.98GB of data transfers and I’m scared that another 140 characters will push me over the edge and I don’t want another $357 bill on my $89 plan. Do me a favour please, call me on my mobile phone number and sort this out. I know you have it. It is with Optus though, and I do live almost 2km from the Brisbane CBD, so I probably won’t have any reception.

Love always,
Matt

Tags: Category Dear... |

14 comments

Dear Rice, it’s been fun, but it’s over…

2010
01.14

Dear Rice,

You’re cheaper than pasta, tastier than bread and when you find yourself in the company of a little avocado salsa and some beans, you go even better with sour cream than a baked potato. Until yesterday I thought you were infallible. You were the food equivalent of the friend who is always there at the end of the night to wait in line for a taxi while everyone else passed out on a footpath. You knew the quickest way home, you knew where the spare key was, you knew who I wasn’t allowed to drunken text at 3am and you never tagged me on Facebook unless I was looking particularly hot.

The humblest of all carbohydrates, no matter what the cuisine you were always content to lie there on the plate and let everyone else have the glory. Your starchy whiteness made you the star. You were the bed that brought coconut milk and chilli together, but like an exclusive Hollywood madam you kept silent, letting dashing ingredients have their way above you without so much as a snap, crackle or pop.

No matter what mood I was in, no matter what was in the fridge, you could be relied upon. If you saw me come home with limes we’d drink a bottle of wine together and make risotto. There was nothing you loved more than seaweed, raw fish and wasabi; a flavour combination no other staple could stomach. If ever you sensed I was losing interest in the relationship you’d stretch yourself into kinky noodles and spice things up with a little laksa. On special occasions you’d put on that see-through Vietnamese number, invite some prawns over and let me dip you in sweet chilli sauce. My God, but those were the days. I thought you were the Queen of all carbohydrates. But you let me down. Big time.

The fact that you got along with just about everyone should have been warning enough. You’d partied your way through every continent on the planet, and like a horny Scandanavian backpacker, I should have realised you’d bring more than a bikini and a pair of cargo pants along for the ride. When I came home late one night and you didn’t mention Bacillus cereus had shacked up in my pantry with you, things were never going to be the same. I know I’d been away for a couple of weeks and you had nothing on your shelf for company other than broken cannelloni tubes and Home Brand iodised table salt, but getting intimate with some beta haemolytic bacteria was a low blow.

Despite drinking dank diuretics in Vietnam and feasting on foul fish tacos in the backblocks of Baja, I’d never had serious food poisoning before. In fact, in 29 years on the planet I’d never even been seriously sick by myself. In my darkest, illest hours, there had always been a mum, or a girlfriend, or at least a concerned band member somewhere nearby to pat my head and tell me it was going to be OK. Kicking me in the guts when I was alone the other night was just plain cruel. Sure, I got to learn a bit about myself as the dizzying fever took hold, in fact I even fancied that like Alfred Russel Wallace the hallucinations might lead my mind to spring forth some dazzling new, undiscovered scientific theory, leaving me with a footnote in history. I spewed forth some dazzling and previously undiscovered matter, that’s for certain. But all I was left with was dysentery and a feeling like I was hiding a missing piece of Evander Hollyfield’s ear in my stomach and he was trying to punch it out of me. It still hurts to laugh. Not that I feel amused.

I’ve got other options you know. You never liked cous cous, but we spent some time together recently in Perth and I think there might be something there. Unlike you, cous cous is all fluffy and warm, almost cuddly, and it doesn’t take forever to get ready. I’ve always liked that about cous cous. Pasta is a blast too. And pasta goes really well with garlic and red wine. I always hated it how you and red wine never got along. Red wine is such an important part of my palette, I can’t believe you didn’t make more of an effort to get to know each other.

Rice, I think it’s time we spent some time apart. In fact, after what you did to me, and after all I’ve been through, I don’t know if I can ever love you again. It’ll be hard knowing that I’m going to see you in all my favourite places, putting smiles on random people’s faces, but I’ll get over that.

It’s been fun rice, but it’s over.

Matt

Tags: Category Dear..., Food |

3 comments

Dear Silverfish

2010
01.10

Dear Silverfish,

Oh little leviathan of the insect kingdom
I thought you were mythical, like Robin Hood in England
I thought you’d been made up as a bit of a joke
By a graphic designer named Alan who smoked
Pencil in hand and a pipe in his jaw
He’d sit there all day with labels to draw
Some were for fly spray, others for repellent
They’d give Alan a story and a package to tell it

One day his boss had come along with a cry
A wonderous new product had entered the line
“Alan dear boy, I’ve something for you”
“This one kills EVERY insect, it’s brilliant: all-new”
“Every insect?” Asked Alan. “That’s rather a lot”
“Can I fit them all in? I’ve only eight spots.”
“Well how many insects exist in this world?”
Asked the boss, whose brow was now somewhat furled
“Well, there’s flies and mosquitoes”, said Alan. “Fleas and moths,”
“Cockroaches, spiders and ants; that’s the lot”

“Well that’s only seven”, said the boss, thinking wrapping.
“We need one more creature or the artwork looks lacking.”
They paused for thought and both scratched their heads
“Mice?” Asked Alan. “Does it make them dead?”
“No, it’s only for insects,” said the boss, looking worried.
“They need six to eight legs, and preferably scurry.”
Alan gave in, and put his pen in its cradle
“I haven’t seen anything else hiding under the table.”
“Nor have I,” said the boss. “We’re clean out of luck.”
“Alan dear boy … just make something up.”

Packaging was fun, and Alan liked to draw,
But he’d secretly been hoping one day he’d do more
Here was his chance, a challenge divine;
It was time to create his own Frankenstein
And so Alan put his pen down to paper
And started creating a creature with lasers
And guns, and venom, and daggers for claws
An insect that killed things, breathed fire and roared
“Goodness me Alan, this thing will not do,”
Said the boss, he was frightened, “it’s all so brand new”.
“Make something less scary, something less evil”
“Or it’ll never get past the marketing people.”

And so a new insect came to be born,
Without any poison or fangs or sharp thorns
The boss liked the roach head, and the long slinky lines
“But now it’s too harmless, can we give it some spines?”
Alan drew them, and then let out a wail,
He’d accidentally put the barbs on the tail
The boss said he loved it “It’s not a mistake”
“The public will buy it, it’ll sell like hot cakes”
“The tail gives it purpose, a reason for hate”
“It’ll make people kill it before it’s too late”
“And in case they think they’ve only got mice”
“We’ll say it eats paper and clothing and rice”
“Alan, dear boy, a name if you wish?”
Alan thought for a moment and said “Silverfish”.

Head office loved it and the packaging stuck
The new insect helped them sell heaps of stuff
Scientists questioned but never complained
The creature looked common and normal and tame
It was there on the label, and that was the proof
No one was courageous to call out the spoof
But I’d never seen one so I was suspicious
I feared I’d been fooled by a plan quite malicious
Of course I’d seen roaches, and spiders and flies
But a silverfish never once passed my eyes
I’d written it off as a ploy to sell spray
And figured the hoax would be over one day
I figured the creature just couldn’t exist
Because if it did, I would have seen it.

But then late one night on my white window sill
A small creepy insect was sitting there, still
It looked quite familiar, like I’d seen it before
But not on a table, or carpet or floor.
And then I remembered the thing on the can
So off to the kitchen sink cupboard I ran
And sure enough, drawn near mosquitoes and flies
Was the six-legged creature I was supposed to despise
I took aim with the spray and prepared for the kill
But I stopped before the poison could make him feel ill
A moonlight walk was this guy’s only crime
Did he really need punishment with insecticide?
A slow painful death didn’t sound like much fun
So I opened the window and told him to run
In a flick he was gone as my finger went swish
The first, and last time, I saw a silverfish.

Tags: , Category Animals, Dear... |

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Dear Mum

2010
01.09

Dear Mum,

I launched this new blog/website about two hours ago, so you will no doubt have found it by now because I know that since I put you on limited profile on Facebook you like to Google me and check my Twitter account to see what I’m up to. Firstly, welcome. This is a blog, it’s where I write things down and they won’t be about marketing so they won’t bore you as much as the other blog. In fact, it’s going to be semi-personal, so I’ll probably talk about things I don’t tell you about on our monthly phone call. I may even allude to drinking, and possibly having sex from time to time, which is going to freak you out, so sorry about that. Also, I’m going to swear sometimes. I probably won’t say anything worse than the F-word, but you should be pre-warned because I can’t make any promises.

I’ll write you a proper letter here soon, because you are a pretty awesome mum and I’d like to tell the world about you and how you don’t like me swearing, but I thought I’d just get this in first before you find this site and figure out how to use the comments section.

Lots of love, hope dad’s blood pressure is OK, say hi to Dave for me
Matt xx

Tags: Category Dear... |

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Dear Steven Conroy

2009
12.17

Dear Stephen Conroy,

Shove your ████ing internet censor up your ████ing ████.

Love, (the X-rated kind),
Matt

Category Dear... |

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Dear Neighbour

2009
11.15

Dearest neighbour,

I can appreciate that a home must be maintained and that there are times when it is absolutely necessary to swathe through large slabs of concrete with a power saw. I can only presume your decision to undertake such scheduled home maintenance at 7am this morning was your calculated move in the game of ‘Things that go bump on a Saturday night’ and played in response to my attempt to kick in my back door at 4am last Sunday morning. Being now my move, I would like to remind you that I have a number of rock and roll bands at my disposal, an after-show party scheduled in six days, and am currently experiencing my own personal post-punk revivalism, a phase I will be expressing sonically and with gusto.

I love you dearly,
Matt

Category Dear... |

3 comments

Dear Dad (Imagine if you were an asylum seeker)

2009
11.11

Dear Dad,

Imagine there’s a civil war in Australia. The indigenous population teams up with all the other non-white migrants in an attempt to remove white Australians from power and remove any influence white Australians and Christians have over the country and its culture. Imagine if the aboriginal/multi-cultural coalition wins the war and they make life hard for white Australians. They kill lots of us, remove any influential white people from power, ban white books, white TV presenters, and generally make life miserable for anyone who is white or from an aglo-celtic background. They take our passports and ban us from travelling outside the country. They kill anyone with white influence or power in an attempt to prevent any uprisings against the new multi-cultural, non-white regime. Every white Australian is persecuted. Anyone who was/is a vocal supporter of white Australian culture has to try and leave the country or they will almost certainly be killed, we’re talking everyone from former police and miltary officers to librarians and teachers in Christian schools.

Imagine that you have been identified by the new regime as a member of a banned religion and a business leader and they want you dead because they fear you’ll try and lead a Toowoomba-based uprising against the new regime. You can’t just turn up at an airport and hop on a plane because you don’t have a passport and if you do you will be taken away and killed and your wife tortured. And you have a beard, which they’ll find scary. You still have your birth certificate and an out-dated drivers licence which you kept hidden, but they’ve taken all other forms of your identification.

You pray for a solution and you hear that there’s a small boat leaving from Broome and it’s heading to China. It’s operated by a people-smuggling operation. You’ve heard the Chinese don’t like the new Australian regime very much and have offered asylum to white Australians in the past. The boat sounds dodgy, but you know if you stay in Australia you will certainly be killed and your wife (I call her mum) tortured, so you decide to take the risk. You can’t speak Chinese, but you know enough about China to know that it sounds better than death and torture in Australia. You’ve heard there’s a large community of white Australians living there and you decide to go for it. You get to Broome and meet up with 80 other white asylum-seekers and get on a tiny boat. You’ve never met any of them before, but one of them says he’s spent some time in Hong Kong before and he can speak the language. He’s the only one who can speak Chinese, so you decide he can be the one who does the talking when you get there.

You make the voyage and arrive in Chinese territorial waters three weeks later. They tell you to go away because they’re full and threaten to sink your boat and lock you up on a remote rat-infested island in the scorching sun and throw away the key. None of you can speak Chinese, so you ask the one guy who can to try and convince them to let you in. His picture ends up in the paper and the Chinese media finds out he was once convicted of armed robbery in Hong Kong and there is a massive public outcry. Stories run on the Chinese version of Today Tonight and the public decides there’s no way in hell a boat full of armed robbers from Australia should be let into the country. Every other country in sailing distance says they will sink your boat if you enter their waters because they don’t want armed robbers anywhere near them and they’re full anyway.

The Chinese navy tows your boat back to Australian waters and your are met by an Australian naval vessel manned by the new regime. As soon as the Chinese vessel is out of site, they take you all prisoner, ferry you away to a secret military base near Darwin, torture half of you to death and send the other half to a forced labour camp where you build railroads in the desert for the next 20 years.

Oh, and they make you cut off your beard.

That’s what we’re dealing with here dad.

Matt

—

peter granfield wrote:

> A copy of an article in a Cadian newspaper, sent to me by my Canadian friend.
> http://www.nationalpost.com/news/story.html?id=2203768
>
> Tamil refugees with Canadian-Oz connection – shows you these guys are playing with us – none should be accepted. Way haven’t we had this on Australian TV?

Tags: Category Dear... |

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Dear Ben (banG)

2009
11.08

(Conversation courtesy of MSN Messenger)

8:04:29PM  Matt: so I locked myself out of the house this morning/last night
8:04:52PM  Matt: got home at 9am and tried to kick the door down before crying on the porch
8:04:54PM  bang: ohh that’s the first time you would have really missed having a gf in brisbane
8:05:01PM  Matt: nice little life experience there
8:05:03PM  bang: faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark
8:05:07PM  bang: haha
8:05:09PM  bang: how was it?
8:05:33PM  Matt: yeah, I left the house without the keys, had to sleep at the party cause I had nowhere to go, had to walk home cause I had no money
8:05:42PM  Matt: it was a low point
8:06:00PM  Matt: jesus christ though, my low points aren’t that low
8:06:21PM  Matt: I wish I’d seen myself on film though, trying to kick the back door in!
8:06:24PM  bang: low points make the high points even higher though brother
8:06:28PM  bang: haha
8:06:28PM  Matt: and then giving up and laying on the ground crying!
8:06:33PM  Matt: lol
8:07:27PM  Matt: and the door banG. The fucking door
8:07:29PM  Matt: hard bastard
8:07:40PM  Matt: have you ever tried to kick a door in?
8:07:44PM  Matt: like, a proper door
8:07:51PM  Matt: with deadlocks and shit?
8:08:03PM  Matt: almost broke my foot
8:08:14PM  Matt: the boots held up though
8:08:16PM  Matt: I was proud of them
8:08:24PM  bang: hahaha
8:08:27PM  bang: that’s perfect
8:08:31PM  Matt: the door now looks like my foot though, only in reverse
8:08:39PM  Matt: kind of a hole there
8:08:50PM  bang: did the neighbours not do anything?
8:09:00PM  Matt: a baby started crying
8:09:20PM  Matt: I presume the rest of them presumed it was me and I had just come home after a big night and had locked myself out of the house
8:09:30PM  Matt: or I was doing some sneaky woodwork
8:09:36PM  bang: the rational response.
8:09:38PM  Matt: knocking up a table or something
8:09:48PM  bang: hahaha
8:10:02PM  bang: building a vege patch
8:10:17PM  Matt: I was thinking about doing that
8:10:22PM  Matt: I planted some mint in the front yard
8:10:24PM  Matt: nothing
8:10:31PM  Matt: fucker died in two days
8:10:44PM  Matt: I had all these mojitos planned
8:10:45PM  bang: yeah that would be sick to grow your own shit
8:11:00PM  Matt: time for another mojito now methinks
8:11:12PM  Matt: Sarah’s flatmate has the sickest basil
8:11:22PM  bang: how was that by the way?
8:11:24PM  Matt: everyone’s growing basil these days
8:11:26PM  Matt: what?
8:11:31PM  Matt: tasty
8:11:32PM  bang: sarahs shindig
8:11:34PM  Matt: oh

Tags: , , Category Dear... |