Complaint free world: Not bloody likely

Having read about an organization aiming to make this a complaint free world, I thought--wouldn't THAT be nice. .

If only. If only it weren't necessary to complain.

But humans make mistakes; sometimes not owning up to them. So yes Virginia, complaining is necessary.

 

As to why I complain, let me count the ways.

Above all, because I can. I can't be fired. I cannot have my pay cut.

My family is use to it. My daughter even enlisted my skill in her high school years when something happened at school that she thought was unfair, or just wrong. The call would come, usually around her lunch time in those pre-cell phone days.

"MOM! Guess what! Guess what Gloria (the principal) did?"

My stomach would churn as I'd sigh despite myself, "What now?"

As for my friends, the true friends accept my watchdog persona. They don't always agree, but they accept it--as part of who I am and have always been. Some even tell me they emulate it, asking themselves at times "What would Candace do?" The others, the so-called friends who unfriended me on my now defunct Facebook page, those who don't like my outspokenness, dumped me years ago.  It's a pity, but I understand. The pity for me is I relish their opinions to hone my arguments.

I complain because I know there are those who cannot. For a million reasons they cannot. They are afraid. Or hesitant to stick their neck out (an action that can result in anonymous hate mail.) So I complain for them, the silent ones.

After a lifetime of complaining, I'm fairly good at it. There is a problem. I detail it in writing (usually by mail) and don't ask for the moon, I ask for what is fair compensation. Sometimes no more than a problem be fixed. I complain to improve consumer and customer care for all of us.

So although a complaint free world would be wonderful, reducing my postal bills given I usually write letters to CEOs directly--it just won't happen. Life is full of pitfalls and those things slipped through the cracks. Mistakes are made.

We're only human. And now that corporations are people, they are too. Flawed.

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    Candace Drimmer

    I was an accidental expatriate; love and marriage led me to it. One day I was a bandy-legged kid sitting atop my dogwood tree looking out of my small backyard world in 1950s New Jersey, wanting to move somewhere--anywhere, different. Next thing I knew my father had accepted a job in Houston TX. I was ecstatic, it was a foreign land in 1961 America. After high school graduation, my parents’ gave me a matched set of fawn-colored hardsided American Tourister luggage. Taking the hint, I went to college; well four colleges in five years--it was the 60s after all. Meeting a young hirsute anti-war, soon-to-be-Peace Corps volunteer, I fell in love. After finishing up college coursework for my degree, but before I even walking a graduation stage, I grabbed the paper airline ticket my boyfriend had sent me, my brand-new passport, and was off to the airport and Lima, Peru.

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