Open letter to HERSHEY’S—Part Deux!

While I was writing a rant to Hershey’s Canada on Friday, my mother was writing a tediously polite letter. She received the following reply:

Hershey's response

Not reading that bit at the end, my mother did send a reply, which no doubt has gone into the void. How, then, to contact Natalie of Hershey’s to say what we really think of coupons (which, far from transmitting goodwill, keep us on the hook for more product)? Who knows. So we’re escalating things at LBHQ. When you want something done, ask Liquorstore Bear, right? And he’ll do it, unless he’s passed out.



Dear Hershey’s Canada,

Thank you for offering my mother coupons to buy more of the product that caused my “Homemade Canadian Kahlua” project to be aborted, and resulted in an inedible cheesecake that offended the foodies in our house so very much.

I’ll be straight up with you. Personally, I didn’t care about our Christmas dessert. Neither did the kids, who prefer to binge on Wagon Wheels or other laboratory food. And the Kahlua wasn’t a big deal, because I got to drink a mickey of vodka instead. But coupons? OMG, Hershey’s, we struggle with the whole idea of coupons here. Heavy coupon use is a socio-economic marker we actively resist, living as we do in a demographic pocket of crazy-ass creationists and Honey Boo Boo devotees. We simply cannot embrace coupons, even if they save us money.

Now, Hershey’s, I don’t expect you to be sensitive to our squeamishness about couponing (it’s a verb if you have a basement full of toilet paper and cream rinse). You’re a gigantic company caroming around like a veritable galaxy absorbing smaller companies in hostile takeovers—who can blame you, with your surely rabid shareholders, for attempting to make a coffee-flavoured product without including any coffee in it? Not to mention, your administrative staff probably has its hands full quelling Urban Dictionary–style “word outbreaks” involving your brand. I can’t imagine what it does to your Twitter feed when someone coins a new Hersheyism.

HErshey highlighter

Lastly, I totally understand the “do not reply” response letter you sent to my mother. If she did want to reply (and idiotically she did)—I mean, if she wanted to reply and know that someone would receive it—she would have to fill out a dozen or more fields on your customer log-in screen, then type her message into one of those little boxes that go to a person like Natalie whose job it is to mollify angry bakers at the least expense possible. If I received as many hate letters as Hershey probably does (especially, I would imagine, from seedy, grungy hotel owners), I’d hire a nice person like Natalie to mail out coupons as well.

What am I trying to say, Hershey’s? Bottom line: I’d be happy with some vodka, and my mum would probably be tickled to receive some good old milk chocolate Chipits (she’ll probably just pour them into her mouth). Or, if you have any other weirdo flavours, you could send us those. Do you have Bailey’s-flavoured ones? We would probably like those, unless they happened to be made without Bailey’s.

I’ll let you get back to your Twitter feed, my Hershey friends. Over and out.


Hershey hair

Why fun is better than hot

My parents have refused to purchase critical items including but not limited to Johnnie Walker Black Label and Goldschlager. They tell me groceries take priority and that’s just how it is.

I get the solid-foods thing; I understand that people and especially kids need to eat meals, and that it’s important not to squander our resources. I do actually like the kids, even though they get a little nutty sometimes when it comes to yours truly.

Can you tell which handwriting is thumbless?

So yes, we should feed them, which means allocating funds for Rice Krispies and apple sauce instead of my booze wish list.

But sometimes my parents waste money.

For instance, they paid the school $10 for something called Hot Lunch and then forgot about it.

According to the school, Hot Lunch means a pizza day for the kids, so they don’t have to bring a sandwich. The school collects the money about two weeks before the lunch, at which time parents check off their preferences as to pizza topping and milk versus juice to accompany it.

Urban slang defines Hot Lunch a little differently—something the grade one teacher may be aware of, given that she rephrased it in the classroom calendar as “Fun Lunch.”

Either way, it slipped my mum’s mind and she packed a sandwich anyway—a waste of resources and (I humbly point out) a small but direct hit on the Goldschlager fund.

I expect my parents to forget stuff. But I wondered how they could forget the school’s exuberant urging to enjoy Hot Lunch.

I asked my mum if she was concerned about the school providing Hot Lunch for minors and making parents pay for the experience.

She smacked her own forehead, realizing she’d forgotten all about it and exerted herself unnecessarily to construct a ketchup-and-cheese sub. This mattered to my mum, who tends to economize with her parenting efforts.

“Is it the Hot Lunch aspect of it?” I asked.

Fun Lunch,” she said.

“Because I think I’d decline an offer of Hot Lunch myself.”

“Oh, would you?”

“I would.” I was being very sincere.


So I guess it looks like another dry day here at LBHQ.