Friday, December 14, 2012

an open complaint letter

I wrote my first ever complaint letter yesterday. In 27 years, I've written a ton in my head for sure, but never actually typed one out and sent it in. Call me cynical, but I usually think they're just a waste of time. This one almost certainly was, but conditions were right--a perfect storm of a long day at work, a budding illness, and yet another terrible experience at Long John Silver's. (Yeah, go ahead--judge me. I eat at a greasy, fatty haven. What of it? To be honest, I hate fish, and only go there for the crunchies, but we'll get to that.) Unfortunately, there was a character limit in the submission form, so it's not a very long letter, but I think it got the point across.

**Before you read this, know that it's tongue-in-cheek (even though I actually sent it).  I can't believe I actually have to give that disclaimer, but I'm on the internet, and there's always some idiot who takes things personally, gets offended, and starts sending complaints to ME.**

To whom it may concern,

I’m going to be honest. I don’t really like your food, and yet LJS is one of my favorite places to eat. Why? The golden bed of delicious crispy goodness that lies at the bottom of the box. Crunchies, crumbs, whatever you call them—that’s really the only the reason I eat there. I will come in and drop ten bucks on rubbery chicken planks, soggy fries, and greasy hushpuppies (okay, maybe that’s harsh--the hushpuppies are pretty good) because it’s generally frowned upon in a civilized society to eat only deep-fried batter for dinner.But I love them. I love them so much, in fact, that I subject myself to inevitable indigestion and likely an early, heart-diseased death. I love them so much that I always request an extra order. 

Mind you, I’ve only been to one LJS that will actually allow me to order them (for an extra 40-something cents that I happily, almost giddily pay)—and I’m not going to tell you which one in case it’s actually company policy to ration these things to customers like we’re prisoners in Auschwitz. Every other location I've been to, your employees either look at me like I’m a three-headed alien, or—like tonight’s visit—tell me oh-so-professionally, “I’ll see what I can do, but my manager is being a real bee-yotch about the crunchies.” Then I end up with a leprechaun’s teaspoon worth of crunchy goodness and a nice giant helping of disappointment.

In all seriousness though, I had a terrible experience at this restaurant tonight. More than anything, I would like to be able to order a box of crunchies (even if I have to pay for them!) without being made to feel like I’m asking for far too much. I hope that you take this letter into consideration, and I would love to hear back from you on the matter. Thank you.

The last (and only serious-sounding paragraph) comes courtesy of my husband, who said that nobody would take me seriously. To be honest, I didn't really expect anyone to. Like most complaint letters, I wrote this more for my own benefit. But if you find in the coming days that you're free to walk into a LJS anywhere in the country and have access to all the delicious golden crunchies you want, you know who to thank--my husband. He says you're welcome.


  1. Haha, Jess, I LOVE this!!! I completely agree! They are the best part of the meal at LJS! (Except I actually like the chicken...) I commend you and really hope that they listen to this, as I too have gotten the "alien-looks" many times!

    1. I hope so too! I don't mind the rest of their food, but if it wasn't for the batter, I'd just go to Chick-fil-a for chicken. I always end up with a stomach ache from eating at LJS, but it's usually worth it for those crunchies!

  2. I can live with or without them. My daughter and wife think they may contain crack as they feel terribly addicted to them, the crunchies, of course.


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