Thursday, September 13, 2012
Dear Red Rooster...
I know we had some hard times a couple of years ago. There was the restaurant without chips, then the time you ran out of chicken, then the final straw when the chips I did get more closely resembled mashed potato.
But I thought I'd give you another chance. Your new ad campaign is pretty schmick and the kids are quite taken by your Moshi Monster toy giveaway. Besides, we were great together for so many years - I dreamed of your Hawaiian Pack goodness for two years when I was living overseas.
So, last night I turned up at your door. Late, after a long drive from Rockingham to Jolimont. I was thinking of your lovely Classic Roast, with plump chicken nestled in a gleaming display of fresh vegies and a rich, hearty gravy.
I whispered sweetly to your speaker box. "A Classic Roast please, with a wing. No, not in a combo, just on its own..." Then I drove up to the warm glow of your inviting window to hand over the better part of $10.
Then it was just you and me. Driving into the night, the atmosphere electric with gravy-scented anticipation.
Disappointment. Deflation. In my job you never overpromise and under-deliver. But, dear Rooster, it appears this must be a line from your charter of customer service?
Let me paint the picture...
A quarter of chicken with a wing. WING. So what happened to my wing? Was it stolen away for the live chicken limb blackmarket trade? Was my unfortunate chicken raised in Fukoshima, or have a nasty chainsaw accident as a youth? We will never know.
How about the vegies? Let's start with the two soggy spuds that appear to have spent far too long in the gravy spa bath and too little time in the solarium. They were joined in a miasma of gravy, infused with a mix of oderous stuffing and bits of intestinal material, by a lonely carrot. The promised pumpkin was a no show - to embarrased to run out with the team.
So, dear Red Rooster, I'm afraid we shall have to part ways again. But don't be sad, it's not me, it's you.