Sir,

At last night’s xxxxxx, shortly after the second half began, the curtain opened to the left of my seat and a figure approached: “Excuse me, sir, I’ll have to ask you to put your shoes back on.”

I had previously been told by your ice-cream seller to put my shoes back on. I asked why. Health & safety, I was told. What, I asked, could be the possible H&S dangers in a man with bare feet? He told me there could be hazards around, I might step on one. I said I thought that highly unlikely and that I was quite happy to take my chances, but he insisted. Now I don’t think it’s any business of an ice-cream man to tell me what I can and can’t wear – so long as I’m not running around with my dick out, or otherwise causing upset or any other kind of issue for others. Which, I need hardly add, I wasn’t. But I didn’t want to escalate the thing and risk spoiling the evening for my wife, who’d very kindly bought the tickets for my birthday, knowing me to be a lifetime xxxxxx fan.

So I bit on my tongue and put them back on.

I had, but once the show started again, focused on the action, I had done, completely unconsciously, what I always do – slipped my flip-flops off and relaxed. Clearly, Mr Ice-Cream Man had taken umbrage, and had pointed out the offender to a manager, who had then gone out of his way to interrupt the experience – not just for me but for all those in the vicinity, who couldn’t but notice the kerfuffle – to double down on Mr Ice-Cream Man’s instructions.

And for what? To insist that a man, sitting quietly in the dark, affecting nobody whatsoever in any way whatsoever, replace the feet that no-one can see in the shoes no-one can see.

I was angry enough to leave my seat and come out onto the stairs to discuss it with your manager, who was entirely adamant. Health & safety regs meant I could not be in bare feet – I might step on something hazardous. It was all there in the terms and conditions if I cared to look. Two minutes later, we agreed to disagree, and I went back to my seat. Where I hardly need say, I soon found my flip-flops had slipped off again.

So tell me, what health & safety risk is presented by a 65 year old man sitting in the dark in bare feet? What is the risk, to anyone, so severe that it justifies degrading the experience of multiple people? Seriously. Do your cleaners not clean the theatre between performances? What was I at risk of? Metal shards? Glass fragments? Discarded junkie-needles? The only real H&S issue I faced was that if I’d been stupid enough to keep my flip-flops firmly on throughout the performance, they would have become so slick with sweat that negotiating the extremely steep steps could represent a real hazard – one that a man with a replacement hip takes particularly seriously. Unlike metal, glass or needles. Your man ordered me to do something that would have put my safety at risk. Is that what you call Health & Safety at The Stalag 17 Theatre?

Fact is, I was at no risk of anything. Nor was anybody else. I had caused no issues whatsoever, for anyone but your staff, who seemed to feel my lack of shoes inappropriate. Fact is, a hundred years ago, I probably would have drawn glances by failing to wear a dickie bow. Times change. What’s considered ‘appropriate’ is up for debate at any time. What is not up for debate is the inappropriateness of having your people degrade the enjoyment of a dozen+ people, ruin the whole experience for me and my wife, and all in an attempt to force a paying customer to put himself in danger.

So, person in charge, where do you stand on browbeating paying customers like they were naughty schoolchildren, and ordering them to do things that put their safety at risk?

I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Big Ears

[Deafening silence…]

Well, I have to say, back in my day a communication like that would have seen at the least an acknowledgement of receipt within 24 hours. But here we are, two days gone and… nothing. Standards are slipping everywhere *sigh*…what can you do?

Let’s see if I can help. Maybe it’s the complexity that’s proving challenging. How about it if we cut the thing down to the barest of essentials. Here we go:

Your manager thought it was a good idea to use his authority to belittle and humiliate a customer old enough to be his father, and order him to do something which, had he complied, would have actively, directly, unarguably put his safety at risk. Does Stalag 17 Theatre agree?

Sincerely

Big Ears

[Deafening silence…]

Got your attention? Good, I can’t get anyone else’s.

Last Tuesday my wife and I came to your theatre for a long-awaited birthday treat and an almost certainly last-in-my-lifetime chance to see a live production of a show I have loved for half a century.

About three or four minutes into the second half, the curtain to my left swept back and a man came through, stood in front of me, unzipped and lowered his pants, and planted a big steaming turd in my lap, in front of my wife and many witnesses. Metaphorically you understand. But still, even metaphorically it’s not really what you’re after on your Big Night Out.

You may be surprised to hear I don’t go out of my way to bother CEOs. They are busy people. I don’t like to waste their time. But I have a strict three-strikes policy. Your people have bullied me once and ignored me twice, and where I come from one plus two makes you had your chance to do your job.

Busy as you are, I think you owe me a hearing. Two of your managers, facing two different scenarios, have both acted stupidly and unprofessionally. And one has acted like a thug toboot, and a dangerous thug at that.

I’m hoping you can do better.

———————

One week ago, I sent this to your published ‘Contact Us’ email address:

[At last night’s Xxxxx Xxxxxx Xxxxxxxxx, shortly after the second half began, the curtain opened to the left of my seat…

…

… ordering them to do things that put their safety at risk?]

I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

I looked forward in vain. I heard no thoughts, or anything else. A couple of days later I sent:

[Well, I have to say, back in my day…

…

…put his safety at risk. Does Stalag 17 agree?]

That was four days ago. Again, I have heard nothing.

Your customer relations people, faced with a customer of yours who is clearly very aggrieved (and on the face of it, with good reason) and – crucially – very articulate, decide the best tactic to adopt is to ignore him and hope he goes away. Does that sound like smart customer relations to you? Decency aside, courtesy aside, really, just how much effort does it take to send an acknowledgement of receipt? It’s just so, unprofessional! What is wrong with your organisation?

Perhaps now you can see why I’ve decided to come straight to the top, in hopes of some intelligence, and a little common decency.

I came for a great night out, and did no-one any harm, and your people trashed it, for no reason at all other than Corporal **** having a fit of pique because having given his orders (via a subordinate – it’s so intoxicating being able to tell other people to tell other people what to do, isn’t it?!), they had been openly disobeyed. That was it.

[Later, at the inquest]

“So, Darren, you don’t like this bloke running around in bare feet so you decide to do something about it. Why didn’t you take him to one side, at the interval or at the end, and say Excuse me, sir, but we don’t need hippies like you at Stalag 17, and I’m sure he would have said fine, no worries, see you. Darren, why now? Never mind what made it important, Darren, we’ll come onto that. What I want to know now is, what made it urgent. So urgent that while the action’s on you have to sweep through the curtain, this instant! – and kick off what’s all but certain to be an angry argument, while a dozen or more other customers who have nothing to do with any of this sit around thinking what the fuck is going on….? Why, Darren? Why now?”

“If I hadn’t acted straightaway, he could have been sitting there for the whole rest of the second half without his flip-flops on!”

Ok, so, I’ve put words in Darren’s mouth, which is perhaps a bit unfair. Maybe he could give a better account of why it was so urgent, why action had to be taken now! I’m all ears. But on the face of it, I mean, seriously? Just how dumb do you have to be to take it on yourself to go out of your way to pick a fight with a 65 year old man who’s doing nobody Any. Harm. Whatsoever. And who you know will, as of now, do nothing but sit in the dark watching the show, then put on his flip-flops and leave.

Indulge me in a bit of context, please. I’d like you to get at least some feel for what it was your man so casually, maliciously, and utterly pointlessly trashed.

Do you want to know how many times we’ve been to the theatre in the last 10 years? Probably double-figures…probably. Though we do love it. And I’m not pleading poverty; we’re not by any stretch poor. But funds are finite, choices have to be made. This was a big deal for us.

My wife bought me the tickets for my birthday because she knew I have a thing about Xxxxx Xxxxxx Xxxxxxxxx. That I have the original double-album, on vinyl, and that I’ve actually played it, every year, for getting on 50 years. It was incredibly kind and thoughtful of her to choose this particular show on which to splurge on theatre tickets. And then in comes The Ice-Cream Kid.

Oh, that reminds me, ‘Corporal ****’? That comes from a bloke I worked with once who’d been a squaddie in the army. A certain kind of man, he said, given a little power, well, it goes to his head. He starts thinking he’s very important, and that people should do what he says. Back in civi street we used to call them little Hitlers. Always craven with their superiors and bullies to anyone downstream. Perfect for a customer-facing environment, wouldn’t you say? Just the kind of person you want interacting with customers, and working with colleagues to make sure everyone has A Bloody Good Time. Which is what we’re all here for, right? Not me, Guv; I’m here to tell people what to do. And then to belittle them when they fail to obey, and to demand instant, unquestioning compliance with a course of action which, followed, would put their safety at risk. For. Absolutely. No. Reason.

I can’t remember which American President (one of the old style real ones who could think and everything) said “I say if it looks like a duck and it swims like a duck and it quacks like a duck, chances are, it’s a duck,” but…

Over to you the jury.

I tell you one other interesting thing my mate said on the topic of Corporal ****s: because Corporal ****s are so toxic, and so useless, and so blindly focused on their own interests and status rather than the unit they’re part of and the objectives they’re supposed to be pursuing, everyone hates them. Their obsequiousness sickens superiors; subordinates spend more time trying to avoid their spite than working for the team, much less any worthwhile objectives. “I never knew one that made Sergeant.”

Meks yer think, eh?

You’ll doubtless be surprised to hear that I’m actually unusually conflict-averse. I hate it. I try to get on with everyone. My enthusiasm for JCS notwithstanding, I’m not a Christian, but my values are essentially Christian. I always try to do the right thing, treat everyone decently, say hello to dogs and ruffle their ears. I go out of my way to please. But when a between-jobs actor comes over and interrupts me while I’m talking to my wife and tells me to put my shoes on, my first thought, in the instant that follows utter disbelief, is: fuck you! Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that, and tell me what I can and can’t wear? Who do you think I am, a fucking schoolboy? Concluding with a graphic suggestion as to where he can park the rest of his fucking ice-creams…

But my wife, ever the peacemaker, cuts me off and tries to lower the temperature, saying placatingly, ‘Ok, well he’s not running around any more. He’s going to stay right where he is, in his seat. Aren’t you?’ To which The Ice-Cream Kid says – wait for it, wait for it:

‘He still has to put his shoes on.’

Why?

Why did he say that?

When he initially told me that I must put my flip-flops back on for fear of hazards, I told him, in so many words, that there were none. I had checked. This was true. I always check under an unknown seat to make sure that when I shed my flip-flops and push them to the rear, they won’t plunge into a void. It’s been known to happen. So I told him: ‘There are no hazards under my seat. There is nothing under my seat. I have checked. So what are the Health & Safety implications either way, whether I sit with my flip-flops on or off?’

But no. He was insistent. The flip-flops must go back on, and stay on, end of.

I say again, why? We had established that the ostensible grounds on which the order had been issued – health & safety – did not tally with known facts. Specifically, zero risk to health and safety.

So why did he behave that way? If you don’t know, I think I do.

Many years ago I talked to an elderly journo who’d been put out to pasture doing training for new recruits, who, after my bewailing the situation at the magazine I was working on, said: “I was on convoys during the war. I was lucky. I survived from start to finish. And I was on a lot of ships. And everyone in the Navy knew there were two kinds of ships: good ships, and bad ships. On the good ships, people worked hard, and cooperatively, and cheerfully, and got on, and got things done. Bad ships were a nightmare of rivalries and vendettas and back-biting. And they didn’t work. And the difference was simple. Good ships had good captains. Bad ships had bad captains.”

Now, speaking to the Captain as I am, that could come across as rude. If so, my apologies; I mean no offence. I think I can dodge any such charge in any case by saying that I am in no way calling Stalag 17 a bad ship. I honestly don’t know, how could I? Current issue aside it seemed fine to me. But my point is, in any organisation people do what they see above them, they look up to see what behaviours are endorsed, applauded, rewarded, how people above them get on, what we in my management consultancy days used to call ‘the way we do things round here’. Why would anyone do otherwise. That’s what makes Corporal ****s so toxic. They infect others. They make being a **** ‘the way we do things round here’.

In my original message, I tagged The Ice-Cream Kid as the source of my woes, with Corporal **** cast as backup. Having thought about it in the cool light of day, I now think it much more likely that he was acting on direct orders from his superior officer. As to the tinge of gratuitous nastiness with which he did it, well, ref my previous para.

No, my beef is with Corporal ****, who seems to have difficulty grasping the fact that not everybody else is a private in his personal army, obliged to obey his every command instantly and without question.

“Respect my or-tho-ri-tie!”

Is that really your role model for management, over there at Stalag Theatres? A foulmouthed 12 year old spherical cartoon kid. Because let’s face it, you’d have to be Trump-level stupid and self-delusional to pretend that anything that took place last Tuesday evening had anything to do with Health & Safety. Your Cartman casually trashed mine and my wife’s evening for exactly two reasons: because he didn’t like the look of me; and because he thought he could.

And that’s just him. Him and The Kid. What of those higher up? Who employed this man, and decided he would be great in a customer-facing environment? And which customer relations genius, given the chance to assess the situation, twice, decided that the best course of action to take with an angry, articulate man, in the age of social media, was to do…nothing?

You’re in the happy business and you appear to be employing rude and stupid people. It seems on the face of it an odd strategy.

As does theirs. Until a few days ago, it was only Corporal **** & The Ice-Cream Kid who were in the frame. Now it’s them plus whoever reads the emails, plus whoever it was they passed the first one to six days ago, saying ‘I think maybe you should have a look at this’, plus anyone else who’s been copied in since, and decided ‘nothing to see here’. Acknowledge receipt? Nah. Apologise? Nah. Address issues raised? Nah. Ignore it and hope it goes away. Is that professionalism? Is that even base competence?

And what of the ticking? Can’t they hear it? Can’t they just feel the potential for disaster? A very angry, very articulate man…a genuine grievance…a big name villain….a nice ironic twist for the headline, I mean, aren’t their spidey senses tingling? Have they been on another planet for the last decade?

Allow me to beg one last digression…

You see flip-flops have been my go to summer footwear all my adult life. Not least because they’re very healthy. (As in ‘Health and Safety’… it’s life’s little ironies that keep things fresh don’t you think?) Anyway they offer excellent exercise to the feet and legs, especially important if you’ve had a hip replacement; you get plenty of fresh air, so no smells or bacterial buildup. Really, health-wise, hard to beat. As long as you use them sensibly. Of course they can become hazardous. In hot weather, say, especially in an enclosed, environment such as, oh, I don’t know, up in the gods at a steeply-tiered London theatre. During a heatwave. Then, if you don’t take them off, they can become slick with sweat, and that makes them slippery on the foot. Particularly dangerous if you have a replacement hip, and are going to be having to negotiate steep stairs. Making it all the more important to take them off regularly, and give them time to dry out.

Unfortunately, Corporal **** seemed to take as a personal affront to his theatre that anyone should have the gall to just turn up in flip-flops, then take them off and walk around in bare feet! Bare feet!

Sorry, but, Stalag 17? Right. Ok. Well. I’ve worn flip-flops to the Royal Opera house. And the Sydney Opera House for that matter. I’ve worn them to the National, the Vics Young and Old, and other theatres too numerous to mention. And at intervals I tend to stretch my legs, which eases the issues I have with sitting still for an hour and more with my replacement hip. Doing it in bare feet is better exercise, and generally safer, certainly if, say, you have to negotiate steep stairs. I’ve done it everywhere, for over 60 years. And not just in theatres and opera houses. Art galleries, museums, National Trust houses, palaces, ancient ruins and temples, I’ve gone to all of them in my flip-flops, all around the world, for 60 years, and taking them off and putting them on just as I saw fit, and d’you know what? Not a single person, in all those establishments, over all those years, all around the world, has ever displayed the slightest interest in whether they were at any given moment on my feet, or off. Not one. Until Darren.

So, your organisation has employed, in a managerial, customer-facing role, a man so stupid that he is oblivious to the risks, the corporate level risks, of treating the people who pay his salary like shit. And, in a customer relations role, people who don’t know a potential time bomb when it lands on their desk. Go Stalag 17.

When I concluded my brief discussion with your manager (missing the first song of pt2 in the process), I told him I’d be in touch, only to receive a nasty, Corporal ****, ‘do your worst’ sneer. Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. But in the meantime, just wondered whether you had any thoughts.

So, how about it, Captain? Is there anyone there prepared to actually speak to me? Is this the kind of welcome a customer can expect at London’s World Famous Stalag 17?

I’m with the apostles: I really wanna know.

With all due apologies for repetition, digression and whatever the other one was, I am yours very sincerely

Big Ears

PS Oh, I just remembered, after receiving my orders I endeavoured to keep my feet at least resting in and around my flip-flops, not wanting to risk further aggro and upset to my wife’s evening, while cursing myself for not being able to fully concentrate on and get back into the show because I was still fuming about the encounter and also pissed off about having to even think about what I was doing with my feet…

And while I was sitting in that state, my enjoyment negated by the anger running through me, during that first five minutes, I several times noticed the curtain to my left opening, not much, just three or four inches. Just enough for somebody to glance through and see whether or not I’m obeying my orders satisfactorily. As it happened during those first few minutes I did actually have my flip-flops basically on.

But what if he had returned say 20 minutes later when obviously I’ve got back into the show, I’m enjoying myself, I’ve almost forgotten all the halftime drama, what would’ve happened if he’d come back and opened the curtain, just a bit, three or four inches, and seen me sitting there openly flouting his edict? Do you suppose he would’ve called security and had them come and escort me and my wife from the building? Because I think that’s what would’ve happened. It would be entirely in keeping with his behaviour up to that point. What do you think?

The man is a disaster waiting to happen. Do you really need me to tell you that?

PPS One week ago an employee of yours came up and shat in my lap, when I had done no-one any harm whatsoever. And a week later, no-one has had the decency to say sorry. Shame on you. I mean it. Shame on you.

Xxxxx Xxxxxx!

London’s iconic Stalag 17 orders 65-yr old fan to put

himself in danger in name of health and safety

Got your attention? Good, I can’t get anyone else’s.

I’m hoping you can do better.

———————

One week ago, I sent this to your published ‘Contact Us’ email address:

[At last night’s Xxxxx Xxxxxx Xxxxxxxxx, shortly after the second half began, the curtain opened to the left of my seat…

…

… ordering them to do things that put their safety at risk?]

I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

I looked forward in vain. I heard no thoughts, or anything else. A couple of days later I sent:

Let’s see if I can help. Maybe it’s the complexity that’s proving challenging. How about it if we cut the thing down to the barest of essentials. Here we go:

That was four days ago. Again, I have heard nothing.

Perhaps now you can see why I’ve decided to come straight to the top, in hopes of some intelligence, and a little common decency.

[Later, at the inquest]

“If I hadn’t acted straightaway, he could have been sitting there for the rest of the second half without his flip-flops on!”

Indulge me in a bit of context, please. I’d like you to get at least some feel for what it was your man so casually, maliciously, and utterly pointlessly trashed.

Over to you the jury.

Meks yer think, eh?

‘He still has to put his shoes on.’

Why?

Why did he say that?

But no. He was insistent. The flip-flops must go back on, and stay on, end of.

So why did he behave that way? If you don’t know, I think I do.

“Respect my or-tho-ri-tie!”

You’re in the happy business and you appear to be employing rude and stupid people. It seems on the face of it an odd strategy.

Allow me to beg one last digression…

So, how about it, Captain? Is there anyone there prepared to actually speak to me? Is this the kind of welcome a customer can expect at London’s World Famous Stalag 17?

I’m with the apostles: I really wanna know.

With all due apologies for repetition, digression and whatever the other one was, I am yours very sincerely

Big Ears

The man is a disaster waiting to happen. Do you really need me to tell you that?

[By return, +/-, evasive, disengenuous response from ‘Mike’ – the fruits of ten minutes’ copy ‘n pasting irrelevant but Very Serious Sounding bits from the T’s & C’s, tongue sticking ever so slightly out of the corner of his mouth – garnished with self-congratulatory references to his ‘Guest Experience Team’, and a cheery looking forward to seeing me again soon at London’s World Famous Stalag 17.]

Mike

Let me start by apologising for falsely accusing you of failing to provide your full name and title. I had failed to spot them below the ‘Mike’, among the logo and the like. I should have looked more carefully, and that’s on me.

Let me briefly follow up by saying that I don’t much hold with your assumption of first name terms. ‘Big Ears’? ‘Mike’? What am I, your fucking mate? Pardon my English. But. Anyway, that to one side, I have many problems with your message earlier. But the main one is that you still haven’t answered my question. No-one has. Despite my asking it repeatedly, of different people, at multiple positions in the Stalag Theatres Group organisation. I’m not going away till I get an answer, so maybe you could have another go. Let me repeat it; actually, let me refine it – keep it nice and clear:

Is ordering customers to put their personal safety at risk in line with Stalag Theatres Group Limited policy?

Because as things stand, you’ve implicitly answered yes. A communication direct to the personal address of the CEO has been responded to – one has to assume with CEO-endorsement – saying that your manager and his actions have the full backing of the organisation. Which means, logically, you endorse endangering your customers.

Is that really how you want to leave it? That is your official position on the matter?

Just wanted to be clear, Mike.

Having been given a full, detailed, some might say graphic account of what happened last Tuesday evening at your establishment, your official line, as Stalag Theatre Group Ltd, is:

Our man did nothing wrong
Nobody at Stalag Theatres has done anything wrong
Your complaints are groundless
Nothing to see here, move along

Just wanted to be clear. As things stand, that’s your official position on this, and I’ve no option but to take it at face value unless I hear otherwise.

Maybe I’ll hear from you, maybe I won’t. It would be rude to ignore me, but then, I’m getting used to it. Your ice-cream man interrupted me while I was having a quiet conversation with my wife, and talked to me like I was an errant schoolboy. That was rude. His manager issued pointless orders like I was a private in his army, obliged to obey. That was rude. At least one person, presumably more, in your customer relations – hang on, what was it you called it? I love this shit! – that’s it! your Guest Experience team! – priceless! – ignored me. That was rude. Your CEO decided a ‘Make this go away’ to Mike would do, to get rid of this entitled ranting old twat. That was rude. Then you copy ‘n pasted bits of small print, to inform me that being aggressive or offensive or failing to follow reasonable instructions from staff was verboten – well gee, thanks, Mike, I never could have figured that out on my own – but bluntly ignored the question I had put. Along, needless to say, with the egregious course of events I had described. That, I put it to you, was rude.

I haven’t been rude to anyone, at any point.

Kind of ironic, wouldn’t you say?

Anyway, reply or further rudeness, it’s all good material.

So, Mike….final answer..

Is ordering customers to put their personal safety at risk in line with Stalag Theatres Group Limited policy?

Yes or no, Mike, if that works for you.

Or even if it doesn’t.

Yours sincerely

Big Ears

[Deafening silence…]

Yo, Piers! I understand from Mark that it’s all first name terms down there at LW. Cool. I like it!

Anyway, Piers, it’s 24 hours and some since I asked Mark a question. He hasn’t responded, but I’m getting used to that. And I don’t really care, because the question I want an answer to can only be definitively answered by you.

In truth you’ve answered it already. In deputing Mark to deal with a communication addressed directly to you, you’ve made his response effectively that of the organisation. So as things stand Stalag’s official position is:

Ordering a man to behave in a way that would put his personal safety at risk is in line with Stalag policy.

It seems you also corporately endorse Mark’s conviction that, having considered my account of what took place last Tuesday night and refuted none of it:

Your man did nothing wrong
Nobody at Stalag Theatres has done anything wrong
Your complaints are groundless
Nothing to see here, move along

As things stand, that is where you, Stalag, have said you stand. Unless I hear otherwise, I shall take you at your word. And respond as I see fit.

Oh, if you see Mark, tell him I said hi.

Yours sincerely

Big Ears

[Deafening silence…]

“I won’t be wronged, I won’t be insulted, I won’t be laid-a-hand on. I don’t do these things to other people and I require the same of them.”

John Bernard Books, The Shootist

Ok, so today makes it a fortnight since your man decided bullying an entirely blameless customer was a smart move, and still no-one’s said sorry.

Twice I’ve contacted you directly: first, you tell Mark to ‘make this go away’ with a few copy ‘n pasted irrelevances from the Ts&Cs; then second, you ignore me altogether. I take it you think this is the end of the matter. And are indeed happy to go on the record with:

Stalag Theatre Group Ltd does nothing wrong in ordering a customer to put himself in danger.

It’s bold, give it that. Personally, I think even a really expensive brief would struggle to square it with English Common Law (you’re still based in London, right?) but hey, it surely won’t come to that.

Let me reprise the situation:

Two weeks ago, an employee of yours took it on himself to go out of his way to pick a fight with a 65-year-old man who had done neither him nor anyone else any harm whatsoever, nor shown any signs of doing so. Among other things, this employee ordered the man to put his personal safety at risk. Unless you think you can find an expert witness eager to go mano a mano with Google AI:

By doing so, he left everyone else involved facing an unenviable cleft stick: do we back him, or not? As per, knee-jerk instinct: stand by your man. All very loyal, very…Tammy Wynette. Of course the trouble with closing ranks and battening down the hatches when one of you carries the reek of carrion is the smell. It gets into your clothes….your hair….it even gets in your mouth. You can taste it even when you get home.

I don’t think any of your people have dealt with this well. But most at least have the excuse that a turd was dumped on their desk. They had to do something – or nothing – about it. They faced a dilemma. Corporal **** faced none. He brought all this on himself. And on me and my wife. And on you, for that matter. Out of nothing but prejudice, and spite, and because he likes to throw his weight around, and because he thought he could with impunity. Was he right, Captain? Fine. Prepare to endorse.

You thought this was the end of the matter? Let me disabuse you. Let me refer you back to the quote which heads this message. You may be a CEO, but I spent 35 years at the head of a company which among other things worked with other companies helping CEOs communicate to their people some really important things, among them – in fact probably first among equals – that the customer is king.

Not the front of house ferret, not his chummy boss (Hi Mike!), not the guys in the Customer Experience Team, not even the CEO. No, the customer: the guy who pays the bills. I paid your organisation for a good night out. Your organisation gave me, and my wife, a really shit night out. And for no reason. We. Did. Nothing. No, I haven’t heard a peep out of the fat lady.

Tomorrow the whole lot goes online. My site could use the drama, frankly. I may add further details, bit of embellishment, a metaphor or two, you know, the images that stick, that make it tell, that really bring it to life. Nothing untrue or inaccurate. Not necessary. Just the bare facts. Speak for themselves.

Then we’ll see if anyone notices, if anyone gives a shit, if anyone else wonders whether bullying a customer and ordering them to put themselves in danger, then refusing to say sorry, is ok. And if that happens, well, who knows, eh Piers?

Probably, no-one will ever notice, evasive disingenuity will save the day, off, off on an ocean wave, and only the open sea all the way to the horizon.

Probably.

Either way, I can think of no better way to close than to reprise my earlier: shame on you.

Yours sincerely

Big Ears

View

View

View