Some months ago I felt compelled to write a rare letter of dissatisfaction to the President of Hershey Chocolate:
Dear President of Hershey Canada
A few weeks ago, after a year of low-carb dieting with much success, I felt I needed a bit of a reward. You see, Canada Post had recently contacted me and revoked the dedicated postal code required for my buttocks. Having the choice of any treat for this momentous occasion, I decided on a 360 gram package of my favourite childhood candy; Goodies, which I intended to savour over the course of an evening, preferably with some tawdry movie involving Johnny Depp and an 18A rating.
Alas, it was not to be.
My first clue that this celebratory evening was going to go very badly was the large yellow burst on the front of the package which happily proclaimed ‘NOW GOODIER!’ (At that point the horrors that followed the introduction of the PR Disaster know as 'NEW COKE,' should have bubbled to the top of my brain and induced caution, but after 12 months of processed sugar deprivation, I heedlessly opened the package and began to blissfully consume what should have been a rare treat.)
My second indication that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong was the odd texture of afore said “Goodier” goodies. The interior black liquorice was too jelly-like, too gummy. Half the pleasure of proper Goodies is in the firm, tough liquorice texture. Puzzled, I kept eating, thinking that perhaps I had eaten a stray ‘mutant goodie’. To my deep dismay, I found they were all hideously afflicted so.
At this point of bitter disappointment, the lingering burning acidic aftertaste suddenly hit like a culinary Quentin Tarantino subplot rampaging within my mouth. Destruction, fiery wrecks of “Goodier Goodies” lay sizzling like gasoline-drenched corpses on my tongue. Shock and horror ensured, sans the spiffy background music. I performed what would have been unthinkable only a few moments before. I actually flung the bag of Goodies away in disgust.
I washed out my mouth in a feeble attempt to rid my poor abused taste buds of this grotesque sensation. I peered at the back of the bag, and find perhaps a hint... IMPORTED BY HERSHEY CANADA INC.
Imported? Imported? Oh yes... The Hershey plant in Smiths Falls, where I used to get my Goodies fix by the pound, is now closed. The production of those “Goodier” Goodies is now in the hands of what county exactly? Is lead and/or mercury now a GOODIER ingredient?
That you have ruined one of the few still accessible and sweet memories of my childhood is not enough! You proclaim this drek to be ‘Goodier’!! ‘GOODIER’!!!???” I beg to effing differ! ‘GOODIER’??According to whom? Extremely acidic burning aftertaste aside, I feel compelled to inform you that your new “Goodier” Goodies now taste like ass.
What ambitious, silver-tongued, insidious corporate demon spawned from the depths of Candy Hell dreamed up this bright idea? Did he and/or she blurt out during a five martini lunch of Hershey executives, “Hey, I KNOW! Let’s fark with the tried and true taste of Goodies. Nobody will mind!"
Please have the wanker responsible shot and /or fired immediately.
I also respectfully request you immediately cease making this “GOODIER” atrocity and go back your ORIGINAL Goodies recipe. A statement to the effect that Hershey's have made a regrettable error in judgment and it will never happen again, Scouts Honour, would also be appreciated, but really, I just want my damn candy back.
Yours etc.,
E. Ann Bardawill
Flush with righteous indignation, did I look up the snailmail address and send off a paper missive with a violently-licked stamp firmly affixed to the upper right corner of an envelope? Hell no! This is the digital age. I googled hershey dot com, and clicked on the ‘contact us’ link, found the name I sought and promptly emailed my rant to the CEO, C. Dax Coen directly.
I marvelled at the inappropriate design of the Hershey website.... and then noticed the company tagline which read:
‘Hershey Systems is a software company that provides innovative solutions to more than 200 higher education institutions around the world.’
Oh shit.
Wrong company.
I just as promptly dash off an apologetic email to same CEO, claiming sugar withdrawl for my hideously embarassing oversight, hit send, and then methodically bang my head against the desk repeatedly. I then stop. Take a deep breath and regoogle for the correct address.
Cut. Paste. Resend Rant. Rinse. Repeat.
The CEO of the UK based Software company replies the next day.... and I quote:
“Actually... That was the best email I have read in a while.
THANKS!!!
Dax”
C. Dax Coan
CEO/CTO
Hershey Systems, Inc.
http://www.hershey.com
I take heart that I may have greatly amused the entire board of directors as well as all employees of a British software company. Was a copy posted on the company news board, with a note tacked above reading:
‘Email from batshit crazy Canadian woman after succumbing to sweetie depravation”?
I both dread and secretly hope so.
On the other hand, the CEO of Hershey’s chocolate does not personally acknowledge my email. I receive a generically vague reply that does nothing to reassure me that my once favourite candy will be restored.
And so, another small piece of my childhood dies. But perhaps I will start mailing letters with stamps again.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Ja's Bar - Smack and Mirror's
J.A.’s bar is absurdly quiet these days. Jamie’s at the bar signing a copy of Hotel at the Corner of Bitter and Sweet for me and we make up 50% of the customers. Dana sits in a back corner, desperately looking in her purse for a digital camera cord, muttering rude words in Chinese. The other guy is James Frey. He’s curled up in the foetal position, several weeks beard growth on his face. I think he’s mouthing: ‘give pieces a chance’.
The Pit hasn’t been used in weeks. The last jello-wresting fracas was J.K. Rowling vs. Stephanie Meyer, but everyone’s eyes, including mine, were glued to Obama’s massive package.
Desperate, J.A. hauled out the mud-coated jello, steamed it clean and turned it into a hot tub/tiki bar. Alas.... No one’s interested.
It’s not just the economic downturn. There’s something else going on and it makes me wonder.
Out in the street, the faint scent of noses worn down by grindstones is in the air. Everyone’s wants an angle so bad they’d sacrifice a virgin to Pythagoras a) he were alive and b) any were available.
What’s selling, what’s not, who’s selling and how is the question. For example - Vampires are their own genre these days, not that there is anything wrong with that, but to me the real-life vampires are CEO’s who require bailouts & suck the life from the rest of us. Now life imitates art and all that. Too close for comfort for my taste.
Escapism is not a new thing for paying customers who shell out deep to keep their illusions. They want fantasy – hard and fast with plenty of sequels. It’s getting tougher for serious writers these days. Even JA is turning to the e-press to gain better royalties, but I don’t see no Kindles near that hot tub. I buy a hard copy I can keep it for a few decades or pass it to a friend. I wants my paperbacks, thank you very much, but I’m choosier these days. A series is too much of a commitment. Too many changes all happening at once. It's not just getting published, it's HOW to get published.
I sip a lukewarm Pap Smear with a wrinkled cherry as I contemplate the writer’s life. I recall a fiction-writing meeting I attended just the other night. A new guy came by with buddies. I asked him what he was working on. He waxed enthusiastic about his screenplay which was about a guy and his two buddies who sell a screenplay to his favourite actress and become rich.
I nodded pleasantly as I threw up a little bit in the back of my mouth.
Not because it was an obvious exercise in self-absorbed fantasy fulfillment that would never go anywhere, but because it probably will sell if he has a decent amount of writing talent, finishes it and knows someone in the business. The sure sell. Even if it's trash.
Everyone wants a new sparkly spin on an old idea. They want to be popular without selling out. Kinda like doing a lap dance with your clothes on. They want it both ways, and in this slow economy, with all the new ways to download free entertainment, who can blame them?
That’s an illusion no one wants to shatter.
J.A.’s bar is absurdly quiet these days. Jamie’s at the bar signing a copy of Hotel at the Corner of Bitter and Sweet for me and we make up 50% of the customers. Dana sits in a back corner, desperately looking in her purse for a digital camera cord, muttering rude words in Chinese. The other guy is James Frey. He’s curled up in the foetal position, several weeks beard growth on his face. I think he’s mouthing: ‘give pieces a chance’.
The Pit hasn’t been used in weeks. The last jello-wresting fracas was J.K. Rowling vs. Stephanie Meyer, but everyone’s eyes, including mine, were glued to Obama’s massive package.
Desperate, J.A. hauled out the mud-coated jello, steamed it clean and turned it into a hot tub/tiki bar. Alas.... No one’s interested.
It’s not just the economic downturn. There’s something else going on and it makes me wonder.
Out in the street, the faint scent of noses worn down by grindstones is in the air. Everyone’s wants an angle so bad they’d sacrifice a virgin to Pythagoras a) he were alive and b) any were available.
What’s selling, what’s not, who’s selling and how is the question. For example - Vampires are their own genre these days, not that there is anything wrong with that, but to me the real-life vampires are CEO’s who require bailouts & suck the life from the rest of us. Now life imitates art and all that. Too close for comfort for my taste.
Escapism is not a new thing for paying customers who shell out deep to keep their illusions. They want fantasy – hard and fast with plenty of sequels. It’s getting tougher for serious writers these days. Even JA is turning to the e-press to gain better royalties, but I don’t see no Kindles near that hot tub. I buy a hard copy I can keep it for a few decades or pass it to a friend. I wants my paperbacks, thank you very much, but I’m choosier these days. A series is too much of a commitment. Too many changes all happening at once. It's not just getting published, it's HOW to get published.
I sip a lukewarm Pap Smear with a wrinkled cherry as I contemplate the writer’s life. I recall a fiction-writing meeting I attended just the other night. A new guy came by with buddies. I asked him what he was working on. He waxed enthusiastic about his screenplay which was about a guy and his two buddies who sell a screenplay to his favourite actress and become rich.
I nodded pleasantly as I threw up a little bit in the back of my mouth.
Not because it was an obvious exercise in self-absorbed fantasy fulfillment that would never go anywhere, but because it probably will sell if he has a decent amount of writing talent, finishes it and knows someone in the business. The sure sell. Even if it's trash.
Everyone wants a new sparkly spin on an old idea. They want to be popular without selling out. Kinda like doing a lap dance with your clothes on. They want it both ways, and in this slow economy, with all the new ways to download free entertainment, who can blame them?
That’s an illusion no one wants to shatter.
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