Dear The Rowntree’s,
First may I offer my eternal and undying love for your products. Many a childhood memory I have of standing by the front door, repeatedly slamming it and screaming at mother to buy me as many fruit pastilles as she could carry.
The excitement of her returning and unlocking the cupboard I had been shoved in was only increased when she would dump shopping bags filled with delightful sugary sweets across the floor.
I would then spend the day melting them down in a pan and reshaping them into new and exciting shapes. The joy of watching my brother soiling himself when he opened his bedroom door to find a multi-coloured fruit pastille Cthulhu shall stay with me for the rest of my life.
However, the reason for me writing to you today is in regards to your fairly new innovation, Rowntree’s Randoms. Although I have loved finding a plethora of items (the Fiat 500 was a wonderful surprise, the grizzly bear not so much) one of my recent discoveries inside one of your large bags was not so welcome.
Let me start by setting the scene.
I rang the care home my mother is currently lounging around in and after several minutes of arguments with one of the care workers, who for some reason kept threatening me with the police, I managed to get hold of her.
As per tradition I stood by my front door, slamming it repeatedly while screaming for some Random’s down the mobile. Once she finally agreed I locked myself in my bathroom and eagerly awaited her arrival. Because of her health, frayed nerves the doctors keep claiming, it took her a few hours before she reached me.
Breaking tradition due to my impatience I unlocked the bathroom door and snatched the plastic bags from my mother. Eventually, with some cajoling, she shuffled off back to the care home. I chucked some bus money at her waddling back as a courtesy and hurriedly slammed the front door, the wait causing near orgasmic levels of expectation.
Dragging the shopping into the living room, I tipped the bags of Randoms onto the carpet, creating a small sugar mountain. Making sure I was properly greased (I had prepared myself in my bathroom during the wait) I backed away several steps, before sprinting headfirst into the bags.
Little in life gives me such pleasure.
The bags exploded in a cacophony of rustling plastic as small funny shaped jellies flew through the air and scattered across the room, like a glucose rainfall. I giggled in delight as I slid across the carpet on my well-oiled face, enjoying the gentle patter of ice-cream and clock shapes thudding across my spine.
My enjoyment was stymied however, when my nose impacted into the crotch of a very confused man. Hurriedly sliding back I looked up, dazed and disgusted, into the eyes of Thomas Edison, my nemesis.
I struggled upwards, stumbling on grease and sweets. The nefarious Edison was slumped in the corner of the room, bright pink and yellow Random’s stuck to his face, his eyes unfocused. I took the opportunity to grab my camera from the other room, because as they say in the modern parlance; no pics, no proof. (on a side note it turns out that cameras back then weren’t black and white, the people were). Unfortunately by the time I had returned Edison had recovered several of his wits and seated himself on my sofa. I took a quick snap before I approached him.
“Edison.” I growled, my eyes narrowing in anger.
The 19th century inventor and entrepreneur stared at me, he looked bewildered.
I covered my delights with one of yours, an empty bag of Randoms that had fallen nearby.
“So? You’re Thomas Edison, I win.”
The reprehensible monochromatic man ran his fingers through thinning hair, dislodging a rubbery skateboard in the process.
“I don’t understand, where am I?”
“Quiet Edison, you evil do-badder, I’ll have none of your sultry lies pass through my ears.”
The demon/serial patentee/old man looked more puzzled than ever.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
It was at this moment that he spotted my tattoo.
“Oh, I understand now.”
Years before I had the beautiful visage of legendary geek and savant Nikola Tesla inscribed across my heart. His work and the technology he created pushed the frontiers of man and our very understanding of knowledge. His accomplishments inspired me, he proved that you can press yourself further than you realise and achieve remarkable things if you just try hard enough. Because of him, I’m the best toll booth operator on the 08:00 – 16:00 shift.
Edison strained his weary eyes, focusing on my tattoo.
“Why is he wearing a bikini?”
I moved my Random’s bag towards my chest.
“Shut up, Edison, you elephant electrocutioner, you’re not worthy enough to stare upon the great Tesla. You destroyed him and his visions for monetary gain. You’re nothing compared to him.”
“Now see here.” Shouted Edison, scrabbling to his feet.
However, before he could finish there was an almighty crash from my front door. Two officers strolled in.
“Ok Neville, we’ve had a report from the care home again. We’ve told you be-. Ere what’s going on?”
Thankfully I’m very good at lying. I won’t go into details but I will say that the two policemen, upon finding me naked and oily in front of a shouting old man, was a situation that worked in my favour.
In essence, I hate Edison and I’m angry that I found him in one of my bags of Rowntree’s Randoms. I’m not asking for remuneration, just that you put a bit more thought into which historical figures you put in your bags from now on.