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My career as a chronic complainer commenced one evening years ago. A fledging housewife, I was preparing dinner. Upon opening a package of Birds-Eye frozen spinach, I came upon a grasshopper, bright green and perfectly intact. Calmly, I wrapped the unexpected bonus, returned it to my freezer and reached for a can of corn as a substitute vegetable. After dinner, I sat down at the manual typewriter and fired off a note to the packager of my unique spinach, telling them, “I was not planning on any added protein to the veal cutlet I was c ooking.”
Within a week, the company sent a representative to our third-floor flat. The well- dressed middle-aged man with a briefcase asked to see the evidence. As my husband Mario stood by me, I triumphantly removed the frozen grasshopper from the freezer. The man took the ice block, slipped it into a briefcase and asked nervously, “What can Birds- Eye do to compensate you?”
I was a novice in the business of complaining and, without thinking, found myself saying, “Our meal was spoiled. You can pay me $10 to cover the costs.” The man’s face momentarily betrayed surprise, then relief, but he said nothing. He simply pulled a $10 bill from his wallet, handed me a paper to sign and beat a hasty retreat. In hindsight, I realized I had cheated myself out of a healthy settlement. I vowed that the next time Big Business inconvenienced me, the matter would not be settled so cheaply.
Since that fateful evening, myriad complaints have flowed from my typewriter. Mind you, all of them have been legitimate. I discovered that a courteous letter of complaint – or, in later years, a long-distance phone call – to a company would result in both satisfaction and restitution. Sometimes it would take two letters or two phone calls to obtain results. Mario would look on with support, if not amusement, at the newfound cause of his fearless housewife.
Complaining and standing up for your rights – especially as a senior citizen – can be daunting. But in a world where quality and customer service are fading customs, my complaints remind Big Business that the customer is always right – especially when she has been wronged.
Over the years, I have complained to companies for a variety of consumer indignities: stale cereal, dishwashing liquid that refused to work up a lather, rancid canned nuts and the delivery of flowers that resembled field weeds. In each case, a heartfelt letter or call yielded a store coupon (or two!) to replace the offending product. Complaint letters eventually reimbursed me for a variety of losses, from defective clothing to faulty zippers to shoddy workmanship on a pair of shoes I bought while on vacation in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
However, when one deals with airlines, a stronger approach is needed. Years ago, I boarded a flight to New Mexico to babysit my grandchildren. When the meal arrived, it was arranged on an aluminum tray like a TV dinner and featured a slab of chicken, two meager potato puffs and creamed peas. After the first swallow, I realized the peas were covered in mold. A mad dash to the lavatory to upchuck the meal met no success.
Upon my return, I flagged down a flight attendant, who received my complaint with solicitude and asked that I fill out a form. The result? As I deplaned, I was met by a registered nurse and a wheelchair. Much ado about nothing. But when I got home, I sent a polite letter of protest to the airline, which resulted in a refund of the $350 flight fee.
One of my most pleasant dust-ups with corporate America occurred in 1985. I was preparing a chicken for roasting and was puzzled when I removed from its cavity an enormous packet of innards. It was time to write a letter to the company to warn them that someone was “fowling” up the operation. My letter began coyly, “Are you growing such spectacular chickens these days that each one has four gizzards?”
Within two weeks a business envelope arrived from Perdue, at the time the best-known chicken producer in America. The author of the letter explained that the company prides itself on quality control. But, he admitted, “we find that occasionally a worker will inadvertently place more than one of the giblet components in the packet.” The writer assured me “We will place more emphasis on decreasing errors in this aspect of production.” It was signed by the top bird himself, Mr. Frank Perdue!
Accompanying the letter was a check for $2, as well as a 22-cent stamp to cover my postal expenses. Perdue was not only a tough man who made tender chickens, but he was also a shrewd businessman. And now he had a customer for life.
My most recent complaint targeted an airline again, this resulting from a six-hour delay reaching Las Vegas from Stewart Airport. The explanation? Flat tires on the small plane destined for Chicago and a connecting flight necessitated replacement fires being flown in from Albany; once arrived, there was no mechanic to install them. Another delay while one was summoned from New York. The net result: I missed an important family celebration.
Once home, and aware that non-weather related extended delays required compensation, I sent a polite letter to the offending airline, which garnered no response. A follow-up letter directed to the CEO eventually elicited a $150 voucher – not all that I’d hoped for, but welcome nonetheless. My record for scoring 100 percent satisfaction on legitimate complaints remains unblemished.
At 86, more mellow and more tolerant, my complaints have dwindled. That is not to say that if some transgression or omission raises my ire that I will be silent. After all, my mail is a lot more interesting when coupons for some form of restitution appear in my box. Speaking of mail, I am contemplating a letter to the U.S. government to convince them that 42 cents is quite enough postage for a first-class letter and they should abandon any efforts to increase the rate. That just might be my next crusade.
Rose Occhialino maintains her own business as a proofreader of court trial transcripts and is a volunteer at the Culinary Institute of America.