Dear The Heinz,
I have been a loyal fan of your soup for a long time now. I especially enjoy your ‘cream of’ range as I have very little cupboard space in my kitchen and the half sized tins fit in the available space a treat. I am writing, however, to complain about my most recent purchase of your ‘Cream of Tomato Soup’. I think it’s best if I describe what happened.
With great abandon I skipped towards my special soup cupboard, wearing my traditional green and yellow polka dot party hat, such is the excitement at the prospect of eating your soup. I grabbed my industrial grade protective mittens from the kitchen side and, whistling in merriment, went to get my can opener out of the drawer. As always at this point in the ritual I remember that it would be easier and less fiddly if I reversed the order. But after five minutes of struggling with the handle, with aid from my teeth I was ready.
In reverence I slowly crept towards the can and, clumsily, attached the tin opener onto the rim. I was somewhat troubled; never before in my life has a tin ‘roared’ at me when I’ve pierced it. At first I was taken aback, but then I thought that you cheeky people had further compressed the contents of the can, giving us customers yet more delicious creamy soup. That sound was obviously just the air whooshing out of the hole.
‘Bless you Heinz’ I whimpered, wiping a tear away with my mighty mitt, and continued opening the tin.
It was at this moment that things got weird.
Before I continue I want to ask a couple of questions. Firstly; where on earth do you package your soup? Because the only place I can imagine is near the Palmer resort in Australia. Secondly; how did you even manage to accidentally fit a dinosaur into such a tiny can?
I was most surprised when the velociraptor burst out of my soup, but it also answered a question I had been wondering to myself, mainly why the can was so heavy when I dragged it back from the shops.
Unfortunately even though the prospect of compressed creamy soup makes me giddy with excitement, the velociraptor, after being trapped inside the can for a fair amount of time, was less exuberant. Lucky for me I was wearing my industrial safety gloves as he attempted to snatch the tin opener away from me with his impressively large teeth. I scuttled out of the room, scared of the dinosaur, but more sad that my delicious tomato had spilt across the floor.
It did, however, turn out that this soupy calamity was somewhat fortuitous as it distracted the velociraptor long enough for me to take a picture, as it’s a possibility you may not believe me.
I managed to ‘borrow’ a neighbours cat in order to entice the velociraptor out of my kitchen and into the communal hallway of my flat, therefore no longer making him my problem. I think the post man was the next to discover the lizard (going by the yells I heard) but at least the postie left the front door open behind him long enough for the dinosaur to vacate the building.
Don’t worry, I’m not writing to demand my money back or even for compensation (although a replacement party hat would be welcome) but I thought I should warn you that you might have a packaging problem in your factory. From my experience I suggest that you should check to make sure if any dinosaurs are trapped in your tins of soup. The best method I can think of is throwing the can in the air. If you can’t throw it, let alone lift it, then it probably has a big grumpy lizard in it. It’s also probably a good thing if you’re not able to throw the tin, because I can’t imagine the velociraptor would be too pleased with you after that.
Please respond in due course.