Letter to Nestle – The day you made my soul Rolo-ver and die.

To whom it may concern,

Before I embark upon the main point of my letter, I would initially like to congratulate you on two Rolo related matters as I am a staunch advocate of credit where credit is due.

Firstly, my love for your little toffee filled chocolate cylinders really knows no bounds. I am completely genuine when I say that Rolo’s have played no small part in the memories and experiences that make me who I am today at 28. (And by that, I don’t mean fat, nobody likes a fat kid do they? I was always careful to subsidise my Rolo consumption relative to my natural childish exuberance for scampering around the neighbourhood).

Secondly, thanks to your “give someone special your last Rolo” I actually encountered my first kiss with a girl and I remember it like it was yesterday. She was called Jennifer, her beautiful smile and understated coquettish charm had been overlooked by many of my peers and, one night at the school disco having spotted my chance, I offered her my last Rolo. She was earnestly taken aback and we ended up sharing a magical kiss behind the 6th form block – which I account squarely to your campaign. The same night she actually got fingered by George Matthews after necking a bottle of 20/20 which broke my heart and left me nursing acute issues of self worth and a warped mistrust for females, but this is none of your concern and I will be writing a separate letter to the makers of 20/20 regarding this.

So you can see, I am a big fan of both your product, and the cheekily effective way in which you market it.

This is why it is with great regret that I have to contact you on such terms.

A couple of days ago, my friend Oliver and I were sat in a local cafe putting the world to rights after a heavy week. Feeling slightly world-weary and nursing an expresso to try to ignite some much needed caffeine energy into my bruised and jaded mind, Oliver pulled a packet of Rolos from the inner pocket of his cagoule. (It was pissing down, by the way, he wasn’t using a cagoule as some sort of bohemian fashion statement – I wouldn’t associate myself with someone like that. I’ve only just learnt to forgive another close friend for wearing deck shoes without socks).

Anyway. There they were. In my hour of down-trodden desperation, this unassuming little cylinder of joy was to provide the chocolate coated, caramel filled shot in the arm I needed. The shot in the arm is a reference only, I am not likening my love for Rolos to any sort of chemical dependence, and particularly not mainlining heroin into a genital vein as this reference may be wrongly interpreted.

Like a child on Christmas day, I eagerly watched on as Ollie opened the packet, chomping at the bit to seek solace in the majesty of these little chews. Ollie, forever the gent, saw my mewing expression and offered one my way first which I nobly pounced upon.

After taking a bite, something was wrong. It was tough all the way through. The look of abject horror written on my face must have cause alarm for Ollie as he paused with his Rolo in hand.

“Bite it in half”, I ordered sternly.

“You what? Why?”

“Bite. It. In. Half.” I reinforced, more calmly but no less stern. The tone of my request I later regretted.

Ollie obliged and bit his Rolo in half. Just as I’d suspected, no caramel. Just chocolate all the way through. ‘Not today’ I thought, ‘please not today of all days’.

But yes, today. Not one single Rolo had so much of a speck of caramel goodness inside. These are not Rolo’s, these are insulting lumps of indiscriminate chocolate in Rolo clothing.

“Where did you get these?” I pined, clutching at straws as though inferring he had bought them from a vagrant in a pub toilet.

But I could not square any blame at Ollie. He had done things by the book and bought these ‘Rolos’ through the usual channels. No, the blame lies squarely with Nestle for what happened to me that day.

I’ve spoken to many people about this kind of issue and some people suggest they would be delighted to receive chocolate-only Rolos as some form of mutated treat. Well, frankly, I am not one of those people.

In my hour of need, my Rolo reprieve was ruined, and without being sensationalist, from the way it made me feel, a Nestle representative may as well have come into my house on Christmas day, burped on my turkey then battered the family kitten to death with an empty sherry bottle as the queen looked on in mocking indifference through the television.

I wanted to write to you in order to make you aware of this grievous error in quality control, and seek your reassurances that I will never, ever, be subjected to this again.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Upsetting regards,

Mark Jorgensen & Oliver Furness

Manchester

Author: markjorgy

is YOUR name Swedish or something?

3 thoughts on “Letter to Nestle – The day you made my soul Rolo-ver and die.”

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