Open letter to NTT

My dearest NTT "International Communications" (ha, are you serious? that's the name you're going with? oh...o...okay. no, it's fine):

I’m not happy. Not happy at all. With you. With your shoddy service. With your ignorant personnel. With the flashing lights on my phone receiver that make me feel as if I’m perpetually blitzed. No, not happy. You started off strong, and for that I applaud you. But now, and no offense, and by no offense I mean serious, potentially ego threatening, therapy inducing, offense, you’re sucking the life out of international phoning you sick, money-grubbing fuck.

I’m sorry, but I refuse to pay a bill for six cents. You claimed it was an oversight from a previous bill. In the land of civilization (for which I’m still searching) the company at hand would have overlooked their mistake and fired someone in middle management to use the annual salary saved to render the six cents unnecessary. I know, I know…it might potentially break the bank, but the sum is not the issue. The principle is the issue. THE PRINCIPLE IS THE ISSUE. You call me at work, politely, assuming Japanese fluency. What makes you think I speak the language? Oversight there, I feel. And once you’ve learned I don’t speak the language, why do you continue to call me, at home nonetheless? I’ve grown rather close to Imamura-san, one of your representatives. Nice lady. All I understand is ‘oname’ (name) and ‘okane’ (money) so really, I have no clue what this is about. But DAMN, is she nice. We have this game we play for kicks. She starts out sweet and pleasantly, (translated for the ignorant schmucks like myself) “name blah blah blah, money, blah blah blah, name, money, money, name.” Then, then…it gets better, I promise, just hold on. I go “Um, ha, I don’t speak Japanese. Sorry.” Her: “Name, money, etc.” Me: “What? Name. Lauren. LA-ren. La. Not RA. Damn you! What’s going on? Who are you? I’m not giving you my money. My name’s not ‘wine’ for the umpteenth time.” Her: “Name. NAME! NAME NAME NAME!!!” Me: “What the fuck?!?! I need an adult. I NEED AN ADULT!!!” And the rest of the conversation cannot be repeated for the sake of censors. Suffice to say the phrase, “Suck it, cunt face!!!!” is heard in seven different languages.

Now, I understand you’ve threatened to cut off my phone line, once again, but I’m calling your bluff. Stupid, maybe. Naïve, maybe. Especially considering the last time you threatened to cut off my phone line you really did cut off my phone line. Of course I didn’t realize until I returned home from Thailand and the majority of my friends and family were worried, assuming I was dead--washed out to see by tsunamis, to never be heard from again. (And I know what you’re thinking. ‘So, like, the minority of your friends could give a flying fuck as to whether or not you’re alive?’ And to them I say this, YOUR UPPANCE WILL COME!) I had to call home from my cell, a four minute international call. Do you know what that costs, NTT? No? No clue? I’ll tell you. IT AIN’T FUCKING CHEAP! The specifics elude me. Something like my right pinky finger and my first born. Let’s just thank Confucious it was the right pinky. But I digress. That is another beef altogether, with AU….oh don’t get me started on AU.

I’ll cut this short (too late) and just say this. I’m not paying. You pay, bitch! You can send your henchmen after me, call me at 6am, cut off my only means of communication. Go ahead, do it. I dare you. I’ve just sent away for a carrier pigeon…let’s just see how you stack up to that! Who needs your false claims of international communication, voice mail messages that can’t be changed, mealy-mouthed crotch pheasant (had to throw it in somewhere Brian) representatives, phoney phone monopoly anyway? Not me. That’s who!

Eat my shorts!

Lauren (LA-ren. LA-REN, damnit! Not Raren.)