Chapter 3: The Twenty Euro Insult

The silence in the O’Connell living room was heavier than the grey, drizzling sky outside. The blinking fairy lights seemed to mock the tense atmosphere, their cheerful flashes illuminating the deep furrow in Liam’s brow. On his notepad, the list of names—Chloe, Raj, Steve, Maria—looked like a roll call of indifference. Beside them were the complaint numbers, useless trophies from a battle of attrition he was losing.

Aoife moved quietly around the room, tidying things that didn't need tidying, her movements a nervous dance around the simmering volcano of her husband’s frustration. She knew this look. It was the same cold focus he’d had when his company tried to lowball his redundancy package years ago. It was a look that promised a fight.

“They’re trained for this,” Liam said, his voice a low growl. “They’re trained to absorb frustration until the customer gives up. They win by doing nothing.” He tapped the notepad with his pen. “But they made a mistake. They promised a manager would call. They gave me a deadline. And they broke it.”

He wasn’t going to call again. Shouting at another powerless agent was a waste of breath. He swivelled back to the laptop, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He was done playing their game by their rules. It was time to create a record they couldn't bury in an internal ticketing system.

He opened a new email, addressed to the generic ‘[email protected]’ address. The subject line was clear and impossible to ignore: FORMAL COMPLAINT - URGENT ESCALATION REQUIRED - Order 74B-391-X.

He wrote with the detached precision of a seasoned manager filing an incident report. He detailed every call, every online chat, every broken promise.

At 10:14am on Dec 12th, ‘Chloe’ refused escalation. At 11:03am, ‘Raj’ from the ‘escalations team’ promised a manager callback within 48 hours. That deadline has now passed with no contact. Subsequent attempts to follow up were met with identical stonewalling tactics.

He laid out the core issue: the deceptive use of a .ie domain and Euro pricing to conceal the fact that the product shipped from the UK, thereby incurring unavoidable and unmentioned customs fees. He attached a screenshot of the courier’s demand for €47. He ended the email not with a plea, but with a demand.

I require this issue to be resolved by a senior manager with the authority to refund both the product and the erroneous customs fees immediately. I expect a direct response within the next few business hours.

He hit send. An automated reply pinged back instantly: Thank you for your message. We aim to respond to all queries within 3-5 working days.

Liam let out a short, bitter laugh. "Three to five days. By then, the courier will have sent the package back." He leaned back, the chair groaning in protest. Now, all he could do was wait. The ball was, officially, in their court.

The wait wasn't long. The surprise wasn't a phone call, but another email that landed in his inbox just before lunchtime. The subject line read: A Resolution To Your Complaint - Order 74B-391-X.

"Here we go," Liam breathed, leaning forward. Aoife came to stand behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

He opened it. It was a form letter, dripping with fake corporate empathy.

Dear Mr. O'Connell,

Thank you for your patience while we reviewed your case. We understand your concern regarding the customs fees associated with your recent order. While Olympus Sports strives for transparency, these government-levied charges are outside of our control and, as stated in our terms of service, are the sole responsibility of the recipient.

Liam’s knuckles went white on the mouse. "'Outside of our control'," he read aloud, his voice seething. "They chose to ship from the UK to an Irish customer from an Irish website. It's entirely within their control."

He continued reading. We do, however, value you as a customer and we apologize for any miscommunication that may have occurred during your interactions with our service team. As a final gesture of goodwill, we would like to offer you a €20 Olympus Sports e-voucher to use on a future purchase.

Aoife gasped. "Twenty Euro? A voucher? You have to spend more money with them to even use it!"

But it was the final paragraph that sent a wave of cold fury through Liam, so intense it felt like ice in his veins.

This offer is our full and final resolution to this matter. We now consider this case closed. We hope you will continue to shop with Olympus Sports in the future.

The case is closed.

It was the ultimate corporate middle finger. They hadn't just dismissed his complaint; they had insulted his intelligence. They’d done the maths. They’d calculated that offering him less than half the value of the customs fee, in the form of a voucher that cost them nothing, was the cheapest way to make him go away. They had reviewed the facts and decided to double down on their deception.

This wasn't a negotiation. It was a mugging.

“That’s it,” Liam said, his voice eerily calm. He stood up from the desk, his fists clenched at his sides. He paced the length of the small living room, the worn rug doing little to soften his heavy footfalls.

“Liam?” Aoife asked, her voice trembling slightly.

He stopped and looked at her, his eyes burning with a cold, clear light. “They think I’m just some gobshite who’ll be grateful for a twenty-Euro voucher. They think I’ll take their scraps and shut up because they’re a big, faceless company and I’m just one guy. They’ve fundamentally misjudged the situation.”

He walked back to the desk and sat down, his movements precise and deliberate. He clicked ‘Reply’.

His fingers moved over the keyboard, not with anger, but with the chilling efficiency of a general issuing a final command before an assault. The email was short.

To: Head of Customer Relations Subject: FINAL WARNING: 60 MINUTE DEADLINE

Reference my previous correspondence and your insulting and unacceptable ‘resolution’.

You have one final opportunity to rectify this situation. I require a phone call from a senior manager within the next sixty (60) minutes to confirm a full refund for the product (€90) and full reimbursement for the customs charge (€47). The product will be kept as compensation for the time and stress caused by your company's deceptive practices and failed service.

If I do not receive this call within the specified timeframe, I will immediately begin a public information campaign on professional social media networks, including but not limited to LinkedIn. I will detail every systemic failure, every misleading practice, and every lie I have been told by your staff, and I will ensure it is seen by your executive leadership, your partners, and the wider public.

Your sixty minutes start now.

He hit send.

The email vanished into the ether. Liam looked at the digital clock at the bottom of his laptop screen. 13:04. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the numbers. The house was utterly silent, save for the frantic beating of his own heart and the distant, muffled sound of Finn playing in his room, blissfully unaware that Santa’s delivery now hinged on a sixty-minute countdown.

The clock ticked to 13:05. The war had a deadline.