To: Mike Txxxxx, Nat West Mortgage Centre, PO Box 156, Brindley Place, Birmingham, BB2 2BN
Cc. Ming the Merciless, Ming Palace, Ming City, Planet Mongo
1st June 2013
Mortgage Acc. XXXXXXX
Mikey, Mikey, Mikey…..
Thank you for your letter, dated 28th May 2013, concerning the arrears on my ground rent and service charge, specifically the bit which says:
“[I am] disappointed that a response has not been forthcoming from you…”
I mean, you’re kidding me, right?
If we put aside – for the moment – the fact that NatWest have 734 different addresses/PO Box numbers to send mail to, and it would be a miracle if any correspondence actually landed on a relevant desk…I am still incredulous that you seem (yet again…) to have no record of my letter concerning this.
The reason for my brain scramble, is simple. It was me who forwarded you the form consenting to the add-on to my mortgage of the service charge arrears, which itself was a follow-up on previous correspondence to you/NatWest/another black hole, concerning this matter. You would not have been able to send me your letter of 28th May, confirming the arrears had gone on to the mortgage, had I not signed and forwarded to you the relevant consent form/request from OM Property Management. Do you see where I’m going with this…?
If you have the time – and I’m guessing you do – can I suggest you go grab a cappuccino (or whatever they drink in Birmingham now), and reacquaint yourself with my file? I worked it out, this morning, that I communicate with NatWest more than I communicate with my own mother. This troubles me on many levels.
I acknowledge the notice of my new mortgage payments of £xxx.xx per calendar month, which takes effect from 30.06.13, for 12 months, and I shall now make May’s payment of the previous instalment (I was waiting for confirmation of the amount but, unfortunately, I did not have the funds, nor the mental strength of character, to attempt to phone the NatWest call centre to ascertain this information. That, in itself, is akin to having someone rip my fingernails off, one by one).
I am well aware that you, or your exhausted automated computer program, must churn out several billion copies of the letter I just received, each day, but that makes me feel like a piddling little number, not the very special, rather spectacular person I actually am. You are “Kafkaesque”. Go on, look it up. The dictionary explains it far better than I ever could. Next time, why not just send the ‘monstrous vermin‘ to devour my entrails? It would be far less painful.
I am sure you are a top bloke, but I’m hoping that you really, really hate your job, and that you’d rather be something like a lion tamer, or a jet pilot, or Brad Pitt. So don’t take this personally. It’s just that each time I open a letter with that depressing purple and red letterhead in the top right hand corner, I literally feel another piece of my soul evaporating into Hell. It’s bad enough struggling to find work when most of the people around me can’t even string a sentence together (I never have that problem, as you can see…), but you’re not helping.
Every time I walk down the street, I have to go past bus shelter print ads that scream “NatWest – Switch To A More Helpful Bank”. Obviously, I’d love to! But Santander won’t take me until I sell this flat. Until then, NatWest own my soul, and you’re obviously having too much fun sucking it dry, to ever let me have it back.
When I’m a millionaire, I’ll buy you a pint. Until then, can you send a memo to NatWest Mission Control and try and get them to implement a simple system of communication which doesn’t involve having to send letters into a moshpit of random desk jockeys, who evidently think it’s above their pay grade to even open the envelopes and read what’s inside (and I don’t mean you, by the way)?
An email address – any email address – would be a great start. It’s 2013.
Onwards and upwards!
email: email@example.com (Electronic. Mail. Try it, it’s like magic!)