Scum, Scam and Veuve Clicquot

September 16, 2015 10:25am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 19 Comments

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It started with a parking fine.

I drove to my local bank to have it out with some authority figure about charging me £25.00 for no justifiable reason. The person on ‘telephone banking’ wasn’t playing ball so a visit was the next step.

I parked my car in the FREE car park and entered the blue and grey, stark building that stank of cheap nylon and superiority. The queue was longer than that for the chippy on a Friday and only two tellers were working. In slow motion. My angst was palpable and I believe it made an authority figure wander out from somewhere out the back of the building to see what was causing the chill in the air to rise. But, before I could grab her, some old biddy felt it was better to give her a tirade about the lengthy queue and how it was eating into her long filled, pensioners day and that she had the post office to get to as well as finishing knitting the Aran jumper for her grandchild this Christmas.

I’m not even kidding, I have better breathing out techniques than a Yoga master.

I eventually made my move as the old biddy went for support from the man next to her with a “Don’t you agree, this is appalling. Back in my day you’d never be kept waiting for…”

“Excuse me,” I stepped in, “I desperately need to speak to someone as a matter of urgency and it’s of a very sensitive nature.” I didn’t blink so that my eyes filled with water. My acting skills are on par with my yogic breathing and I think I was a better option than the old biddy gaining a following. I was ushered quickly to the back room where I spent the next 20 minutes telling the authority figure that I wanted a refund or I’d be taking all my money to another, grey establishment. They caved and I left the bank feeling victorious against the machine. Right up until…..

I reached my car to find a big black and yellow ticket stuck to my windscreen. A penalty for parking in the FREE car park but neglecting to display my FREE ticket. The cost of this? £25.00. Yep. From the bank to the council, my saving was eaten in a nano second. So, let’s just bear that in mind as I drove home looking for Traffic Wardens to mount the kerb for. As you can imagine, I was feeling a tad on the pissed off side. I arrived back home to find a little parcel on my doorstep, slung there by the delivery man who couldn’t be arsed to put it into my post box. I didn’t remember ordering anything so it came as a nice surprise. Maybe psycho wine killer was back with his random act of kindness.

I opened the package to find two tiny pots of face cream. I was disappointed and somewhat perplexed.

This cream, by the name of Aimee (please remember this name) had been delivered to me a month before as I had ordered a “TRIAL” promotion at the small cost of a fiver. I’d been distracted by an advert on Facebook you see, and after reading about this amazing paste, I decided to give it a shot. Besides, it was cheaper than the Boots no.7 that I usually used but with dramatic effects, apparently. Well let me tell you, it was shite. It was like smearing PVA glue onto your face. The damned stuff caused more wrinkles by having to drag its putty like texture across your skin. Needless to say, I slung it. Like I said, it was only a fiver. However, I hadn’t ordered anymore so couldn’t understand why it was sitting on my doorstep. I decided to go to their website to inform them of their mistake only to come across words like “Scam” and “Outrageous”. I went to directly to my other bank account to find that they had taken £200.00 out without my authority AND 95 pence for delivery. Ha! Bless ‘em. My yogic breathing started to fail and I felt the onset of hyperventilation.

I called the bank. I was transferred to the fraud squad. The fraud squad leader said I couldn’t have my money back, even though they know of this company and their scamming ways, it was my mistake in ordering a promotional trial. Even though, the small print of repeatedly sending it to you is hidden from clear sight, once money has left and they have once again delivered, tough titty.

I threatened to remove all my money to another grey establishment but this time he could only apologise and stop any further payments leaving my account. My acting skills had also failed.

Rage.

I went back to Aimee’s website and rang their customer phone number. I rang it several times only to be greeted with an American voice saying “Nobody is available to take your call. Have a nice day.”

Have. A. Nice. Day.

Fuck. Off. The only way I’m going to have a nice day is if I’m getting the Traffic Warden to force feed you with your own toes and my parking ticket.

I resorted to sending them a nasty e mail. Guess what? They never responded. Who’d have thought.

So, instead I am going to use my freedom of speech to let everybody, on every social media platform, know about this scamming, rip off company that charge you two hundred smackers for PVA. Spread the word people.

My stress levels had reached the danger zone and so I went to my car ready to do a Thelma and Louise without the Louise. A few days earlier, I’d bought myself a nice, new car. Although it would be a shame to get blood on it already, I had paid for paintwork protection so it would wash off easily. When I’d viewed the car at the showroom, I’d been bamboozled by all the fabulous gadgets and had said to the salesman, “Goodness me, all that’s missing is a mini bar!” Upon collection, they had left a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the cup tray at my side. I found this rather lovely and had kept it in my car for the novelty factor. But now the moment had arrived.

I sat in my car, on the drive with Capital Radio blasting out and popped the cork. I spent the remainder of the late afternoon watching the sky turn dark and supping this fine, French nectar from the bottle until it had disappeared and my mood had been replaced with a bubbly indifference. And you’ll never guess what….

You won’t believe how bloody marvellous my skin looked afterwards when I looked in the rear view mirror. Champagne is definitely the answer.

19 Comments

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Oh, Juju,

If one considers my degree of familiarity, you can imagine how this post left me ROFL. With you, dear, not at you.

Well you’ve got to bloody laugh, haven’t you. If my traumas bring a giggle to others then at least something good has come out of it. However, I still hate Traffic wardens, Banks and face cream with a passion. Maybe I need to try a Bollinger…:)

I had that happen once. I found out where the “Aimee” types were and went there in person. I will spare you the drama, but I got both the money owed and the money that I thought I deserved for “trouble, time and suffering”. I recommend face-to-face confrontation.

A guy did that to my daughter once. I brought two friends to his home. Once inside, they started laying out visquine (plastic) on the floor and taping the joints while we talked. He (a lawyer by trade) felt intimidated. I explained that I didn’t want others to have to clean up the mess. He paid what was owed.

It’s easy to screw somebody from a distance. Not so easy face to face.

Please find out where they live, Larry and come with me (bring tools) I think the address they have is fake and their bloody web name changes too when it comes to taking money out of your account. Hateful people. Bleh.

Everyone leaves breadcrumbs behind. All it takes is shoe leather and a little innovation. Sadly, since you live across the pond, it’s not like driving across town. Bringing tools causes problems but I’m sure that they can be obtained locally.

They’re a lot bolder as keyboard commandos than they are as flesh and blood. Trust me on that.

P. S. The new TV show out, “Bastard Executioner” is out now (on FX). Highly recommended if you can get FX. Set in the Welch Marches during the early reign of Edward II. I have a feeling that you’ll enjoy the show. Sort of film noir in the way that True Detective has been.

Thing is, I don’t know where these scammers live. Trust me, if they were anywhere in the UK and I found it, I’d be driving my car straight into their offices. They seem to have a fake address here and a different ones for their sites. I’m hoping they live down the road from you and you can get on the Diavel with a body warmer. That’d scare ’em!

I can get any show I want – I have ways! Thanks for the recommendation, sounds fab!

Brilliant piece.
Except the piece about the old biddie.
I like old biddies. The more the merrier. Bring ’em on! Some of them even put sugar lumps and lemonade in their delicious Bats Blood Merlot you know!
Sorry about your travails Jules – but it makes for great reading!

Thank you and hello Ian!

I like that kind of old biddy that puts sugar in her wine. How bonkers! But, your wine needs no enhancement whatsoever. In fact, for anyone here who hasn’t tried Bats Blood, you’re missing out.

Oye! What happened to the day when people were actually honest? I miss that.

There was a day when that happened? I must have missed it.

Hey Crystalicious 🙂

It might have been the champagne, Jules, but you could also be one of those women whose complexion is made lovely by rage. I recall a character in a P.G. Wodehouse novel, with the unlikely name of ‘April June’, who was blessed in this way.
In the meantime, I shall instruct my local voodoo witchdoctor to put a curse on these thieving Aimee rogues.

Yes, maybe it gives me a rosy glow! Rosie Garden can be my new, enraged moniker.

Thank you, Mr. Gorilla Bananas, it’s nice to have such exotic support from the Congo.

i want an Aran jumper for Christmas……Aran jumper is life…..literally, the Tree of Life stitch.

my sweet, we’ll combine your acting skills with my acting skills and have your acting skills. let’s do little skits on my youtube channel where we invite unsuspecting guests to come on our show and then after a few witty zingers we gently give them a pie in the face. all for the comedy. i’m afraid the budget is low so we can’t use actual pies, only tins filled with whipped cream. but there will be lots of leftover whipped cream we can play with later *)

Then an Aran jumper you shall have! Probably you’ll get too hot in it though. You need to live in England to wear such things.

I’m up for it. This could pave our way to fame. An intelligent and comedic yank with a skitzy Brit. It’s a winning combination.

I’m very creative with whipped cream as I have made many a trifle 😉 *)

Glad to see your site up and running again (it disappeared for a couple of days and I wuz worried).

You trusted an advert on Faceache? Thought you had more savvy than that m’dear.

Still, even the wisest of us get caught out sometimes: it’s twenty years now, I’ve been married.

Yeah, I had to change hosts and like every award winning service industry, they took their sweet time. Don’t you worry though, Masher, I’m not that easy to be rid of 😉

I know. I’m stupid. I was having a momentary lapse.

Twenty years….phew…

How did they have access to your bank account?! Did you surrender your details? Seriously. How did that happen?

Huxley warned us about these sorts of things. Brave new world, my arse.

Yes, in order to get the trial for a fiver I had to give my bank details. BIG mistake. Never again.

Indeed!

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