Dear Mr (or Mrs) Stella,
It is with deep regret that I am writing to you with a complaint.
From an early age, (earlier than society deems acceptable I must admit) I have enjoyed your beverage. Crisp and satisfying, it has always filled me with courage, much like a Lion. Should Stella have sponsored ‘the Wizard of Oz’, we as a nation wouldn’t of had to endure hours of watching Bert Lahr (the actor who plays cowardly lion) be a pussy. He would most likely of given Dorothy a good hiding as well for dilly dallying down that yellow brick road.
Anyhow, I seem to have wandered off point. Let me quickly set the scene for you. It was a warm summers day, not too hot, but certainly warm. So much so, I decided to have a BBQ after work. Now in work, Barbara was being a massive bitch again. She took my stapler, and wrote in Debbie’s birthday card, even though I know fully well she didn’t put into the collection. Everyone knows Barbara’s a piece of work, but still no one says anything. So, as i’m sure you can understand, I was ready for a good couple of cans of ice cold Stella to settle my nerves.
Sat in the back garden under the gazebo, feeling somewhat sexy in my latest summer wear, I perched on the lounger with a hot dog in hand. Reaching into my cool box, grasping my first can of chilled golden nectar (everyone knows the first one is the best) I thought to myself ; ‘well, this is light’. Pedro (my Spanish personal trainer) must be carving me into a lean, mean, muscle machine as promised. My jubilation however was short lived when I realized the can was completely empty and still sealed. I dashed to the kitchen, ran the tap and checked for air bubbles. NOTHING. The realization set in, this wasn’t a mistake, this wasn’t an accident, this is a premeditated sick joke.
Flustered, upset and quite rightly angry, I hurled a bag of pegs against the greenhouse. A sea of plastic scattered the garden. I felt broken, let down and depressed. The red midst descended and (without thinking) I text messaged Barbara a single message. ‘Barbs, eat shit’. An action I regret to this day.
(pause to calm down)
OK, i’m back. I don’t know how your going to find the culprit for this facade, and I don’t know how your going to reprimand them, but what I do know is I need answers. You have ruined what was a pleasant evening. You have made my working relationship with Barbara more awkward than an adolescents ability to control his erection, & you have removed all trust I hold in your product.
Please investigate fully. Leave no stone un-turned. Call in the A-Team for all I care, Just resolve this.