They actually left me a voicemail a few days ago. I returned the call yesterday. The phone was answered by the assistant manager who took a message. He then called back about 2 minutes later, apologizing profusely.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize who you were. I knew I recognized your name. After I hung up, I remembered talking to you about your letter…”

“Wait,” I interrupted, “you remembered talking to me?”

“Yes, didn’t we speak the other day about your experience here at our establishment?”

“Um, no… I haven’t heard from anyone at Applebee’s aside from the voicemail I received yesterday.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I had you mistaken with someone else…”

Needless to say, that wasn’t the best way to start a conversation regarding redemption for a night of crappy service and terrible food.

We proceeded to chat for a good 15 to 20 minutes. As I related to the manager what transpired that night, I was bombarded with numerous random interjections of, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” and “I’m apologize for that. I’m sorry.”

Obviously the guy felt bad.

Ironically, as I told him about the infamous Key Lime Pie Poop, he anxiously announced to me that he also hates it, and refuses to put it into his mouth. I just laughed. That stuff should seriously be served with a disclaimer. *Caution: May Cause Taste Buds to Commit Suicide*

As we winded down the conversation, the manager invited me back to the establishment where he would allow me to pick out some baseball tickets for the local baseball team for a game of my choice, and give me a voucher for a free meal.

In a nutshell, he gave me the tickets he should have given me in the first place and offered to feed me more crappy food. Thanks Applebee’s.

Here’s the kicker though. When we entered the restaurant last night to pick up the tickets and meal voucher (I went with my roommate who was a participant in the Crapplebee’s dinner), we were approached by multiple servers, one of which hollered at a significant distance, “Oh, are you guys here to use us for our baseball tickets?!”

“No,” was my simple response.

“Awww, come on. Admit it, you just want free crap.”

As my roommate and I left the building, he turned to me and pointed out that everyone in that restaurant probably thought the very same thing as that server… that we’re just a bunch of college punks making up complaints so we can get free stuff. Ironically, if I were 10 years older, nobody would have thought twice about my complaint or demand for better service.

Just because I’m young doesn’t mean you can treat me like crap, world! And these crappy baseball tickets and the free meal voucher are proof. Stick it stupid server. Stick it crazy manager. Stick it Applebee’s. Stick it world!

Dear Applebee’s,

Last weekend, my girlfriend and I along with 2 of my roommates and one of their fiancés went to the Orem, Utah Applebee’s for dinner. I was hesitant to attend because my last trip to Applebee’s almost made me throw up, but I leaned towards forgiveness and went anyway. Big mistake.

I’ll admit, our service wasn’t terrible.  I have, however, had better. My real complaint, as with the last time I visited your place of purveyance, is more based on the quality of food. My roommates both ordered a 3 Course Classic, and I ordered the Zesty Ranch Chicken Sandwich.

My sandwich arrived after a long wait. It was lukewarm and had a look that screamed, “I was microwaved!” I lifted the bun to look for the ‘zesty ranch’ or ‘buffalo sauce’ that so enticingly described the dish on the menu, but it was to no avail. There wasn’t enough ranch on that sandwich to dip a baby carrot into, let alone spice up a dry, microwaved, processed chicken sandwich.

As I muscled my sandwich down with the hope that my stomach wouldn’t hit the ‘reject button’ and make me re-eat it in reverse fashion later that evening, my roommates forced their way through their sub-par meals.

The only hope of the evening was the dessert that might some how cover up the lingering aftertaste of twice precooked chicken.  You can only imagine our dissatisfaction when the key lime pie ended up with the savory taste and texture of a giant, steamy turd.  Don’t ask me how I know what a turd tastes like… I’ve never eaten poop.  But, if I had, I would put money on the fact that it tasted better than the key lime pie.

As we waited for our checks, the manager walked past our crammed booth to the table next to us.  He began to talk about the local semi-pro baseball team.  He asked if anyone at the table was a fan, because he had some free tickets to give away to an upcoming game.  Half of the guests at the table were too drunk to answer.  The other half politely declined so that they could continue on with their dinner and friendly banter.

All of the members of our table, however, quickly became excited at the prospect of getting free tickets to see our local team play.  The manager, however, awkwardly squeezed back past our table, avoiding eye contact and offered the tickets to other nearby tables while ignoring our hopeful gaze.  We paid for our meals and as we walked out of the building, we saw the manager still trying to pawn off the tickets to tables on the exact opposite of the restaurant than where we had been (he had obviously been rejected by over half the restaurant by this time).  If only he could find someone who wanted those tickets!

Overall, I was incredibly disappointed with our experience. How you continue in business while providing vomit-inducing food, sub-par service and complete indifference to your clients is beyond me.  I hope something will be done to improve things at your restaurant for your future customers’ sake.

It may sound ludicrous, but I listen to the radio to hear music.  I know, it’s insane.  It’s like saying I watch Flava’ of Love for the acting or MTV for the music videos.  It is fairly apparent that the music on public radio is growing more and more scarse as the days go by.

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “Bags, we don’t work for free.  We need commercials to have money to pay our paychecks and the pay company who makes the huge stickers that go on our sponsored refrigerator box Sions.”  Look, I realize that you need commercials to fund your airwaves, but it’s not the commercials that I am referring to in this case.  My fight is with your idiot DJ’s. Honestly, it seems like your DJ’s, from morning to night, are just plain old obsessed with hearing the droning sound of their own voices.

I used to tune in to your station to hear the cool music.  You played songs nobody else played, and when you weren’t playing those songs, you were playing different versions of the songs everyone else was playing from live recordings in your studio.  Those were the good ole’ days.  It still brings a tear to my eye and a skip to my step just thinking about them.  As of recent, however, your DJ’s have developed a habit that has literally slaughtered the art that is quality public radio… they talk over the beginning and ending of the music they play.

Seriously, guys… stop it.

Just because a song has a beautiful instrumental intro does not mean that you need to come up with some sort of unimportant DJ mumbo jumbo filler to broadcast over it!  You do not need to sing along to the songs you play… not even to Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. You do not need to try to time the “Ka-chiiing!” at the end of Mika’s Grace Kelly to be cool.  You do not even have to try to bark to Who Let The Dogs Out? … we know you can do it… spare us the grief of having to listen to you.  And honestly, if you absolutely have to do it, do it with the mic off. 

Frankly, it’s gotten so bad that I find more joy now in listening to the background music (Ratatat, Cake’s Manah Manah and US3′s Cantaloop) that plays whilst you drone on and on about your children, your tight new jeans and your lipo suction and lazer hair removal surgeries.  At least I expect you to talk over them… even though they are as good, or better than all of the overplayed Colby Calliat nonsense that you seem not to be abel to get enough of.

101.9, you are quickly becoming the cancer of radio.  You are brining as good a reputation to radio as Richard Simmons did to the aerobic tape industry.

Suck it up and shut it up so I can get back to hearing music.

-Bags

Dear Disney,

Throughout my entire childhood your gifted team of professional animators and producers provided me endless hours of mind numbing entertainment. It seemed like every year or two a new Disney Classic was released on the big screen to twist and deform my perceptions of life and the reality of love. I patiently awaited the day when I could court a gorgeous redhead with a seashell bra, or a beautiful, fair-skinned brunette with an obsession for short hairy men. Alas, that day never came.

Now, here I sit in my dorm room, a 24-year-old college student without a magic carpet, a band of best friends who dress up in animal skin pajamas, fight pirates and fly around with a sexy fairy, or a talking pet. I truly don’t think you understand the disappointment that I have experienced at your hand.

My disappointment is not limited, however, to a lack of fulfilled childhood dreams. The dissatisfaction I experienced only mounted as I witnessed the garbage that your sequel department released. Whoever is in charge of your sequel department should be burned in effigy, hanged, shot, burned again, kicked in the weiner, and then fed to a starving shiver of sharks.

The 40+ direct-to-video pieces of crap are nothing but a shameless ploy to extract and scam as much coin from precious 5-year-old girls who hope to become princesses and pre-pubescent 11 year old boys who hope to marry one. I mean, in The Little Mermaid II, Return to the Sea, you didn’t even stick with the original movie plot for heaven sakes! YOU DE-HUMANIZED HER! This poor half fish, half girl has undergone more species changes than Carrot Top!

I mean, you know you have reached a new low when you are exploiting a bear named Pooh.

Rather than beating a dead horse, why not just be creative again and make a new, original movie with semi-normal characters so that you can destroy an entire new generation’s belief by telling them that true love is easy, all fat girls are evil, all step-moms are evil, and that people randomly break into synchronized song and dance for no apparent reason when you walk down the street? Wait, that would require effort. And who needs effort when effortless allows you to wipe your butt with $100 bills?

Disney: “Where Dreams Come True”… and then are shamelessly obliterated by the painfully crushing blow of reality smacking you in the face.

Disney, you have ruined my life.

-Bags

Every night you sit there around a table with your old NBA buddies all dressed up in your pastel shirts and high fashion suits and ties that make it look like one of the gays from project runway got you in his clutches before the show. Your job? You reinvent the wheel.

I am curious. Do you ever just sit and listen to the words that come out of your mouth? I’m sure that you do, and that is what is so surprising to me. I mean, honestly, how may ways can you answer the question, “What do the (your favorite team here) need to do to win it?” Let me give you a hint that might save you some air and probably your 3 remaining brain cells. To win any game, all a team needs to do is score more points than the other team! That’s it. End of story.

And this is how you make a living!

I’m amazed at how many people make their living off of speaking when they have nothing important, or even logically coherent to say. Do us all a favor. Cork it and just let us watch the game!

-Bags

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Dear FLDS (Fundamentalist Latter-Day Saints, or as I like to say, the Fake Latter-Day Saints) Church,

I can’t help but notice your ever growing popularity with the media over the recent weeks. All of this hoopla about polygamist raids and cousins marrying cousins and whatnot… it’s really starting to piss me off.

Ironically, the reasons spawning my irritation are not likely to be the same as the majority of those other critics who refer to you a mentally unsound, and grossly morally backwards institution. The fact of the matter is that I already knew you were mentally unsound and morally backwards. I knew that polygamy was still being practiced in some little sick and twisted po-dunk community out there. I also knew that one day the shit would hit the fan, someone would expose you… and that’s when the mud flinging would begin.

Well, that day is today, and now the negative publicity for your church is inevitably resulting in negative publicity for mine.

The world is disgusted by the “Fundamentalist Mormons”. I hear it over and over every day. “Fundamentalist Mormons, Fundamentalist Mormons, Fundamentalist Mormons!” Did the creators of your church eat stupid pills the day they were to decide on a name? Seriously, I can see it now… *wavy flashback effect*…

“Hey, since our church stopped allowing men to marry as many women as we want, why don’t we just leave and start our own church where we can do whatever we want?”

“You’re a genius! Let’s do it! But we’ll need a name. What should we call ourselves?”

“Hmmmm, well, we want it to sound fun so people will join… and we want it to sound smart so people will think we’re smart… HEY! How bout the Fun-da-mentalist Mormons!”

“I like it! It’s original, unique and not at all similar to any other religion we may have belonged to in the past and would never want to be associated with in the future.”

Seriously, you just don’t get more screwed up than that. We don’t want anything to do with the Blue Team anymore, so we are forming our own team! It’s called the Fundamentalist Blue Team… nobody will suspect a thing. Argh! (Grunt of frustration.)

I guess more than anything, I just hate it when someone realizes that their ship is sinking fast so they look around and pull anyone they can get their hands on down with them. Millions of wholesome, good standing Mormons the world over now have a need to defend their beliefs to the skeptic and the unfamiliar because of your inane inability to think sensibly.

Do us all a favor and get your own freaking original name and learn take responsibility for your own actions.

-Bags

A note to the rest of the world: Mormons don’t practice polygamy. Fundamentalist Mormons are not Mormons any more than Tom Cruise is one… but they are just as crazy.

Dear Ventana Student Housing,

I have been living in your residential complex for over a year now. As the months have crept by, I have been continually impressed by your ability to successfully run a people oriented business without orienting your business around your people.

As a new month approaches, just like any other apartment complex, I am required to pay you rent. Ironically, your office hours overlap perfectly with mine turning the act of paying my rent into a fun combination game of hide-and-seek and tag. I always start looking for you where you least expect it… the office. I figure that since it’s such a good hiding place, and since nobody else is there at 8:00 in the morning, you might show up one day and I’ll catch you. This is never really the case though because you start work an hour after the rest of the world decides to start. After dashing my hopes in the 4 foot deep swimming pool, I abandon my Rent Pay Game until about 5:00 PM. At the sound of the whistle, I rush to my car, speed home and bolt to the office… again, the doors are locked.

People tell me that you are there from time to time, but I don’t believe it. To me, you are like some mythical creature like the Lucky the Leprechaun, Sasquatch or the Chupacabra. Have you ever tried paying rent to the Lucky the Leprechaun? Those kids can never catch him! Granted, you do have a rent drop box but it’s inside the office which is locked when your ludicrously and inconveniently planned 9:00-to-5:00-with-a-random-two-hour-lunch-business-hours are over. Is this also part of the game?

I would, however, like to thank you for providing me with the convenient option of paying my rent online… for an additional $20 fee (which is equivalent to the fee received if I pay my rent late… so why bother really?). Like all college students, I am made of money and can afford to pay an extra $240 a year for the convenience of not having to try to guess when your dependable office staff will be present to relieve me of this cumbersome $330 check that’s burning a hole in my pocket.

I guess all the craziness associated with paying rent can be overlooked because of the wonderful amenities you provide us, like a pool and a hot tub. It’s nice to have the hot tub back in commission from its winter break, now that the weather is getting hot and muggy again. There’s nothing quite like dragging my butt through a scorching hot day and then getting to reward myself by sitting in a 100 degree hot tub. Despite what other people say, I’m glad you emptied it out for the winter. I mean, who wants to sit in a hot tub when it’s cold outside? That’s almost as ridiculous as wanting to run through the sprinklers on a hot day.

I know you feel like the poor, picked-on kid from elementary school who nobody likes and everyone hates because you’re stupid and ugly. But did you ever stop to consider the ever popular phrase, ‘The customer is always right.’? I know it’s a far fetched idea, but maybe if you catered to your customers a little bit, they wouldn’t egg the University Parking Patrol cars or steal the complex master key or the flat screen TVs out of the office to get back at you.

I wish you luck in your future endeavors… and by the way, when will you be around so I can pay my rent?