VINTAGE HAUGHT: My email to Gasp Jeans

In September last year Gasp Jeans received an email from a customer disgusted with the service she’d received at their Chapel Street store. It was the perfect opportunity for Gasp to punch out some Marshallian brilliance and then tan themselves in the intense light of the public goodwill that would inevitably have followed.

That, of course, is difficult without some pretty special response-email talent in your customer service area, so an alternative might have been a sincere apology, an “any inconvenience caused” template reply, or to follow medium/large-business best practice and just ignore the email completely.

Instead, they flew to Fuckwitery, Texas, went into a gun shop called The Customer is Always Wrong, purchased a semi-automatic email response weapon and fifty kilos of ungrammatical ammo, returned to Australia and proceeded to do the online equivalent of “going postal“.

The exchange got the social media virus and soon just about everyone had it.

You can – in fact, you must – read (or relive) the full story here.

Here’s what I wrote to them a few days later:

Dear Gasp,

I’m just going to cut to the chase: can you please abuse me by reply email?

I’ll be brutally honest (I know you goddamn respect that): your clothing doesn’t really do it for me – diamante encrusted denim isn’t my thing.… Read the rest

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THE RESPONSE: My email to Yarra Trams

You may have noticed by now that I believe sarcasm is the second highest form of wit (lavatory humour being the first). Today, however, I write without even the slightest hint of it.

You may remember a few weeks ago I posted an email I had sent to this mob:

If you didn’t catch it, you can read it here.

I write the emails I send to well-known people and organisations, imagining very different reception scenarios. In the case of the Jim Beam email, for instance, I imagined a chimpanzee being slightly surprised by the noise of the email chime, making a little noise of distress, then (inexpertly) pressing the delete button with his long index finger, just like he’d been taught to.

In the case of the email I once sent to Kyle Sandilands, I imagined Jackie O phonetically reading the email on a tablet computer out loud from the side of a pool in which Kyle was lolling, and giving up after the second paragraph (and the fifteenth time Kyle called her a “dumb, illiterate moll”).

In the case of the email I once sent to Margaret Court, I imagined Margaret herself hissing at the screen and then escaping into the night through the window in the form of a bat.… Read the rest

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My email to Jim Beam

Recently, you might have seen an ad for an alcoholic beverage company where young men and women shout noises at the top of their voices…

…and that’s it. That’s the ad in its entirety.

You know the one…

Recently, I’ve heard some disappointing discussions revolving around the ad and have often found myself the lone voice of reason, defending their subversiveness, wit and poignant underlying message, among a group of up to a dozen irrational halfwits.

This being the case, I decided to write a letter of support to Jim Beam. It went a little something like this:

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“I’ve hit pay dirt, baby”

by Haught 1 Comment

Late last year a man sent me an email that I thought had changed by life.

It went like this:

Good morning,

I hope you are fine today?

I don’t know if you might be interested in a business proposal which am about to reveal to you considering that we haven’t met in person.

It’s all about US$ 10,000,000 dormant fund in our bank coded account here(SGBCI).

I am the only person with the knowledge of the funds and its deposit, and will solicit for your partnership for us to have it. My position in the bank will guarantee easy and risk-free handling of the transaction as i have every details of it.

I will give your more details as soon as I hear from you, including the sharing ratio.

Please ignore the proposition, if you don’t seem to be interested. contact me at mrjeanfafona@yahoo.co.uk

Please keep confidential!!

Thanks,

Mr Jean Fafona

Once the pressure build-up in my underpantal region had subsided, I responded, thus:

Good morning, Jean,

This sounds like a wonderful offer and I feel so privileged that, of the world’s seven million people, you chose me to share in the US$10 million.

First, I should apologise for being so late with my response.

Read the rest
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The Grape Men Ride Again

If you’re new to the Haught blog, you might not know who the Grape Men are. In this case, you might find my introduction to the Grape Men from a few weeks ago helpful:

The Grape Men

Yesterday I heard one of the Grape Men ask another one to help him push an empty wheelbarrow from one side of the lot to another. When the other bloke said “Why? Why you move it?” the reply was “Do I need a fuck reason?” and everyone laughed. Including me.

A few days ago I heard one of them ask another to open the bonnet of the car he was trying to start and see if he could detect any problems. The other fellow said “No. Do it youself. I’m busy.” I rushed to the kitchen window and stood on tiptoes and to my delight found that the only guy who could possibly have said “I’m busy” was sitting on a wooden crate smoking a cigarette and patting a stray cat.

Truly, these are kings among men.

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My email to Ben Polis

by Haught 9 Comments

Yesterday, the Melbourne Football Club, as well as the Melbourne Victory Football Club and the Melbourne Rebels Rugby Union Club dumped Energy Watch as their sponsors after the co-founder and CEO of the company, Ben Polis, was found to have made a series of offensive comments on his Facebook page.

I like writing emails to people like Ben, as they are often misunderstood and I am very good at looking at things from a different perspective. Here’s one I wrote a little while ago:

Dear Ben,

I am writing this email to you tod

I am white and male.

I am writing this email to you today both to lend my support at this difficult time and (I hope this doesn’t sound opportunistic) to propose a business deal.

I feel that the way you have been treated has been nothing short of disgraceful! (Is it OK if I put exclamation marks at the end of my sentences? I know you have ADHD and I know rambunctious punctuation can set a person with ADHD off, so I thought I’d check.)

We seem to live in a nanny state where freedom of speech is frowned upon in the same way that soap might be at a brown person’s home/adobe hut/teepee.… Read the rest

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The Bangla-Dash (or how I became friends with the great Marc Favre)

I think it might have been Henry James who said “Tell a dream, lose a reader.” That’s a lie – I don’t think, I know; I checked it in Google and then changed George Eliot to Henry James in my draft. (And while we’re on the subject of confessions, when I found that I’d got it wrong I said to myself “Ah, of course – Henry James” even though I don’t know who either he or George Eliot is. I think one of then might have been, or still is, a woman, but that’s about as good as my knowledge gets.)

(I did a Literature degree at university.)

Anyway, what I think this bloke/woman was getting at was that a dream is the ultimate item of esoterica – almost nobody can relate to your starring role in a game of Gaelic football played between a team of creatures from Greek mythology and an assortment of your childhood heroes, including Sooty and Ricky Jackson (unchanged since 1991), played on a hybrid ground, one half of which is lined with silver ash, the other half of which resembles the Punt Road end of the MCG. Very few people care that you played as a ruck rover and had license to roam far and wide, taking both courageous last-line-of-defence marks while also slotting thirteen goals (not to mention the eight or nine Joe the Gooses you unselfishly popped over to Ricky Jackson).… Read the rest

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