(no subject)

Dear IBM (I think),

No I do not want you to email me a PDF of a four-colour-glossy which contains no actual information for a product I've never heard of, will never use, and have no say as to whether we use it or not anyway.

Also, please tell your sweatshop call centers to buy pop-suppressors for their inmates, because I could barely make out one syllable in three through the crackle, not all of which was the bad phone line from the subcontinent. And that's before taking into account that my auditory comprehension is shithouse to begin with.

Also, you broke me out of flow, you sons of bitches, and that does not make me well disposed to you, even if my good graces made any difference, and somehow the fact that they don't makes it worse. You killed an afternoon's hard-fought-for progress by your abortive attempt to sell me something I don't want.

Your sales force and sales practices were a joke in the seventies, and they haven't improved. Please go away.

No love whatsoever,

me.