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I think you were very right to complain, if they were even minimally efficient they would offer you some compensation. I myself hate having to write letters of that sort. Here in Portugal the mail service is generally ok but I have had problems before too.
I also have a good one about poor service: Once I went to buy tampax, as women do sometimes. I had never noticed before but on this particular day I noticed that the packets of tampons have a sell-by date. This box had a sell-by date from 6 months back. I was kind of shocked. Imagine how many unaware women are out there using tampons, and how irresponsible it is to have on your shelf such an intimate product that's past its date by six months. So I took a box and went to the check-out with the rest of my stuff. As the cashier was running my stuff through the till, I remarked that the tampon box, and all the other ones on the shelf it came from, were past their sell by date by 6 months. She didn't even flinch. She said, oh, sorry. Then she proceeded to try and put the tampon box on my tab. To which I said sometihng to the effect of "Did you not hear me? I just told you this box is past itsdate by six months and you still think I want to take it?" She shrugged and got on with things.I told her to tell the manager and that was it. I still regularly find this problem with tampons in supermarkets here. I think it's disgusting.
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Whether we write or speak or do but look
We are ever unapparent. What we are
Cannot be transfused into word or book.
Our soul from us is infinitely far.
However much we give our thoughts the will
To be our soul and gesture it abroad,
Our hearts are incommunicable still.
In what we show ourselves we are ignored.
The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged
By any skill of thought or trick of seeming.
Unto our very selves we are abridged
When we would utter to our thought our being.
We are our dreams of ourselves, souls by gleams,
And each to each other dreams of others' dreams.
Fernando Pessoa, 1918
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