Alex the Acara was angry - very, very angry. Between
his last submission to The Neopian Times being rejected, his Neopoints taken
by the Tax Beast, his training course asking for the wrong codestone, and the
Pant Devil stealing the one he'd bought to replace it, he felt like thrashing
someone, but, of course, the only thing on sale in the Weapon Shop was a set
of overpriced Rainbow Guns. He had simply had enough, and - because his Neomail
service had crashed and refused to send any messages - chosen to walk to the
Neopets Staff Public Offices to deliver his complaint in person.
The receptionist at the counter, a frazzled Red
Lenny, glanced up from her NeoFashion novella, and smiled politely. "Hello,
and welcome to the Neopets Staff Public Offices... how may I help you today?"
Alex made his best red-eyed snarling face, and
began, "I'm here to make a complaint. You see, I have had enough of--"
The receptionist smoothly interrupted, "Oh, you
want the Complaints Department... let me see..." She held up a wingtip to silence
Alex's bluster, and glanced quickly through her schedule. "I think Number Six
is free... but he's still despondent over his failed career as an international
man of mystery. Mr. Pickles is available... He's a bit briny... and enjoys dressing
up as a wrestler, but he should suffice. Are you here for a prolonged complaint,
or just a few minutes?"
Alex attempted to compose himself and behave
politely. "Well, I think I'll just take a few minutes..."
The receptionist nodded. "All right - that'll
be 25 NP for the private consultation, then, please."
"What?!" Alex snarled. "Fine... fine..." He reluctantly
paid up, and mentally made a note to add this to his growing list of complaints.
"Thank you," the Lenny smiled, "and you'll find
him in Cubicle Hall 12. Through that door there." She gestured at a set of double
doors, and then returned her gaze to her book.
Alex nodded gruffly, and stormed through the
doors. After a short walk, he noted a small '12' on the wall. Opening it up,
he glanced in, and found himself in a small maze of cubicles. He carefully peered
into one, and...
"What do you want, you whiny, obnoxious loser?!"
An irritated, weedy woman in an outlandishly coloured cardigan was sitting behind
the desk in this cubicle, and shrieking at the top of her lungs. "Are you here
to complain about your frozen account, you manky asparagus-eating twerp? Let
me tell you, you were probably doing something very, very wrong, so we don't
care! Tell your owner to make another account and give up on you, because you're
never going to see him again!"
Alex blinked. "Hey! I came here to make a complaint,
not to get yelled at by--"
"Oh. I'm terribly sorry, this is the Abuse department,"
Bubbles corrected, frowning.
"Oh... well, that would explain it.. I guess...
do you really react that way to your clients?" Alex asked, still somewhat startled.
"It's been a long day. You want cubicle 12A.
Turn around, take a left, follow the hall to the end, and it's the first cubicle
on your right," Bubbles replied, gesturing aimlessly at the hallway. Alex turned
and stepped out, leaving Bubbles to her coffee. "... stupid pet."
Alex headed down the hall as instructed, and
peered into the cubicle. Sitting in a very small chair, in front of a very small
desk, was a very large man dressed in yellow spandex, sipping a can of Apple
Neocola very slowly - and loudly. He didn't seem to be paying much attention
to his surroundings, so Alex knocked heavily on the cubicle wall. "Excuse me
- I'm here to make a complaint."
The strange man turned, setting down his soda,
and sneered up at Alex. "I am... the one... the only... El Pickulsaur! And I
have no time for your petty complaints - I have a news brief to write!"
Alex squinted. "Uh... the lady at the desk said
you were handling complaints. ... and while I'm at it, what is with the outfit?
I thought my day was bad enough, what with my items being stolen, my NP being
taken, my codestone being the wrong type, and my article on fungus collecting
being rejected--but in the last ten minutes, I've met a receptionist--"
El Pickulsaur interrupted, "Oh - are you here
for a prolonged complaint, or just a few minutes?" and punctuated his statement
with a long, slow slurk of his green beverage.
Alex paused. "Oh, ah... just a few minutes."
"All right, go ahead. And hurry it up," El Pickulsaur
said, setting his can back down and absently flicking the top.
"Oh. Well. Your receptionist charged me an entry
fee and directed me to the wrong room, your abuse department seems to be here
to abuse us Neopets rather than to deliver reports of such, and the complaints
department is a guy in spandex drinking a soda..." Alex blurted, rather frustrated.
"You think you have problems?" Again, El Pickulsaur
paused to take a long slurp of his drink. "I have to reword the entire New Features
column for the week to something that actually sounds like news, the editor
laughs at me, and the editorial-writer hates me... Oh, and your time's up. Get
lost."
"What?! That wasn't a few minutes... more like
one," Alex said, somewhat surprised.
"I'm sorry... well, actually, I don't care, but
I'm not allowed to respond to your complaints any more unless you pay for another
three minutes," El Pickulsaur said, turning back to his computer and absently
tap-tap-tapping on the soda can. "Ah, KATE... I never liked that name anyhow."
Alex grumbled, but took out a 25-NP coin and
set it next to the soda can. "There. Now... ah... Anyhow. So what are you going
to do about my complaint?"
"I dunno. Probably ignore it. I hate complaints.
Positively despise them. I'd much rather be wrestling right now--waiting for
my chance at the next Battledome Leagues, when the faeries come out again...
Heh heh... Complaints don't get you anything, you know. You might as well not
bother, and just get a chair and a cubicle."
"Rrrgh... I've had enough of this," Alex snarled,
smacking the wall as he stormed out. There had to be someone in this place who
would listen and solve his problems.
Behind him, El Pickulsaur called, "I'm developing
poor posture from this lousy chair, and I never get any fan mail..."
Without looking back, Alex stepped straight into
the next cubicle, and was surprised to receive an abrupt smack square in the
stomach. "Oommmph!"
"No, no - you're not doing it properly." The
owner of the voice turned out to be a skinny gentleman with a peculiarly slick
hairstyle, who was holding a printed and bound copy of 'As Told By Child_Dragon'
in all twenty-one volumes, and presently preparing it for another swing. "You
clutch your stomach, and attempt to retch, like this... blaaagh!" He demonstrated
briefly, then smacked Alex in the stomach with the series again.
"Aarrgh!" Alex winced, and held his stomach.
Whatever that strange book was, it certainly hurt!
"Better, better, but 'blarrrgh!' - and put your
hands a bit lower," Mr. Shankly corrected, and walloped Alex again with the
heavy tome.
"Blarrgh!" Alex repeated, feeling confused and
starting to feel somewhat ill.
"Yes, yes, you've got it!" Mr. Shankly beamed,
and raised the printed copy for another strike.
"Stop smacking me!" Alex managed to gasp out,
stepping back a few paces and feeling alarmingly green for a red Acara.
"Stop smacking you?" Mr. Shankly echoed, blinking.
Noting the wordless, frantic nod, he continued, "Why'd you come in here then?"
"I'm here to make a complaint! And now I have
another complaint to add..." Alex moaned, holding his stomach. "What was that
thing, anyhow?"
"Oh, no, complaints is next door. This is 'reading
The Neopian Times' lessons in here - I teach lessons in how to handle the worst
and longest forms of literature known to Neopia in my spare time," Mr. Shankly
answered apologetically, setting the aforementioned tome of all that was unreadable
back on his desk.
Alex stumbled outwards, coughing, "What an incredibly
horrible concept... why would anyone read The Neopian Times?"
----- You have been reading a Monty Peophin Production -----
Author's Note: Why, indeed? Monty Peophin Productions are parodic works in
the same vein as Monty Peophin and the Holy Censer, and are not to be misconstrued
with entirely original works, nor considered plagiaristic. For more ventures
into the realm of parodic Neopian humour, contact WizardofAus via Neomail.
If you want to complain, get a dead Pawkeet first. For those wishing to say
that this is in strong resemblance to popular British comedy, yes, you're right. | 
