Disclaimer: In the interest of keeping my job, I have opted to not fully disclose the issue that irritates me about the utilities. Just rest assured that they are buttheads. Thank you.
Dear Sirs and/or Madams and/or Both:
It really irritates me when you refuse to work with me, and it especially irritates me when you refuse to work with when the company I work for owns your company.
Come on people, now; smile on your brother! Everybody get together, try to love one another right now!
The afore mentioned irritation just leaves me feeling sad and empty, because there is apparently nothing I can do about it, other than to cry, quietly into my napkin as I sit at a cafe eating lunch, and then, as I twirl my napkin, think back on how my dresses twirled in the wind when I was growing up in the Swiss Alps. Ah, how much simpler life was then! As I am daydreaming, you, Mr. Utility, would walk in, and you'd look at me and smile in a way that implies, "I'll only be bad for you," and I will smile, and avert my gaze, as if to say, "I know that it's wrong, but what choice do I have?" As the camera fades to black, but before the credits start to roll, the audience will see one final tear roll down my cheek, and they will be left to wonder whether it all worked out.
Maybe in a better world it would work out, but here on earth, we are left to quietly cry, and wish for words to express the unfathomable.
There, are you happy, utilities? You've made a late Bill Murray movie.
Also, I'm serious that you are buttheads.
7 minutes ago