Tag Archives: Corporate

Don’t eat the yellow bits and you’ll be fine

Everyone hates airline food. Everyone. My dad hates it so much that Qantas have him on a ‘frequent complainer’ list – so they know where to send the vouchers whenever he sends in his rambling.

I’ve never had a satisfying thing to eat on a plane. I just don’t understand why it’s so difficult – it’s the same premise as a lean cuisine really, why the hell can’t they just get it right?

Also, why do they always choose food that looks like vomit? When you feel like doing it – eating it isn’t going to help.

A Styrofoam tray of powdered mash with watery brown ‘gravy’, petrified and reheated ‘fish’ with yellowy green mucus like sauce dribbles is not what you want jumping around on your lap in a dipping hunk of metal at 23000 feet.

It’s just not right.

Beyond the food, a flight is never a wonderful experience – that is unless you can fork out the price of a used car for what is basically hiring a reclining chair for 20 odd hours.

I’m ALWAYS seated right where some kind of roof appendage is in front of the television screen – or – if I’m supposed to have a personal one, it’s usually broken.

So today’s complaint is about just that – the flight. It’s from a year ago and I hope you haven’t seen it, because it’s hilarious.

This complainant went straight to the top when he got a pile of crap for dinner on a long Virgin flight, and it was so florid and well crafted that he got a personal response from Mr Branson himself… A masterpiece to be found after the cut:

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The Inaugural Complaint

Hello everyone and welcome to Pen Wars. I’d like to start us off with a personal complaint, which in a way was the catalyst for this blog. If I may, I’ll employ some theatre of the mind to get you in the groove:

A lonely, wet, umbrella-less night

A lonely, wet, umbrella-less night

It’s a cold, dark night at a mostly damp Sydney bus stop. A girl sits uncomfortably, perched on the edge of the saturated bench shivering and smouldering all at once.

It has been a 50 minute wait for the bus so far and it’s growing late after the long 9 hour working day. Money’s short as pay day is tomorrow.

The bus is timetabled to come every 20 minutes, and yet only one passes without stopping – overladen with stumbling passengers. Angrily, the girl sticks out her hand to flag a taxi and with her other, impulsively searches in her bag for her iphone.

She furiously writes the following complaint (after the cut) Continue reading

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Filed under Transport