Dear Annette of Holiday Shacks,

Thanks so much for your email. I must say though, it wasn’t exactly the response I’d been hoping for. I thought, perhaps, you might go for something a tad more conciliatory. A touch more apologetic, considering your crappy handling of what went down when we rented one of your “shacks” earlier this year. I sure as hell wasn’t expecting you to so nimbly squirm out of accepting any responsibility at all. Allow me to recap.

In April of this year I rented one of your ludicrously priced holiday homes for a weekend. You see I live abroad, so whenever my husband David and I are back in Melbourne we have this little tradition of renting a country house with my sisters so that we can all catch up, have some drinks, cook some food, dance around, swim, play games, shoot the shit and just have some good old fashioned, wholesome, family fun.

As you can imagine, we were suitably impressed when we arrived at Oceania Retreat – it’s a stunning property. Which is why I rented it, notwithstanding the astronomical (and actually pretty embarrassing) price tag. I’m sure you’ll agree that $3050 for a weekend away is a shitload of money, Annette. Because I would hate for you to think that I can go around splashing cash like that on the regular. No, no, no. It was definitely way above my budget. To be very honest with you, I actually booked it by accident one night, when I was super drunk. Oops! And I’m not ashamed to say that paying that much money for a two day getaway made me feel a little bit like vomiting in my mouth. But as I’ve already said, time with my sisters is very special to me, so I went through with the booking.

So yes, we were impressed with the house. But as I told you in my initial complaint, there were a few things we were not so impressed with. Especially considering the price we paid. For instance, the dirty socks we found on the back porch. What the hell, Annette? For $3050, the least you could have done was pick up the socks? Also for that price, how about providing an umbrella that actually fits into the picnic table, instead of one that doesn’t. And hey, why would you advertise the house as having a “coffee maker” and a “fully stocked gourmet kitchen and pantry” but not actually provide any bloody coffee? That’s just nasty, girlfriend. I mean, alright, coffee might not seem like such a big deal… but it kinda is a big deal Annette. It kinda is! And while you’re at it, you might also want to think about asking the owner to repair the broken bi-fold doors that we were strictly forbidden to use. The busted bi-folds were a hoof to the face, Annette. I bloody love bi-folds!! I love the effortless blending of indoor and outdoor living that they provide. The bi-folds were one of the main reasons I booked Oceania Retreat in the first place. And the fact that the entire wall of them was broken and unusable does not seem fair considering that I paid full price for the house.

 

But look, all of those inconveniences paled into comparison when, at around 9.30pm on Friday night, the electricity in three quarters of the house just went out. And no Annette, despite your strident assertions, we had not overloaded the system. Not in the least. Nary an iPhone was being charged at the time. But the power went kaput anyway. Being practical people, we figured we’d just find the fuse box, flip the safety switch and get back to having fun. Except Annette, we couldn’t find the fuse box. We looked everywhere, inside and outside of the house. But it was nowhere to be found. Was it because we were drunk? No. Was it because there were no lights? No. It was because the fuse box was hidden… wait for it, behind a locked door!!!

Which begged the question, Annette, where the fuck was the key? I still believe that was a very reasonable question to ask, sitting in a big-ass summer house with no electricity on the first night of a weekend away that cost us an asspile of money.  For some reason, you disagree.

We spent a couple of futile hours looking for the damn key before giving up, a little after midnight, and calling the number in the guest compendium. We called twice, because we felt that the situation was serious enough to warrant immediate attention. But the woman who took our calls obviously didn’t think that a power outage in a luxury holiday property was worth waking anyone up for. And so we spent the night in a $1525-a-night house with no electricity. Which was significantly worse than a mere “inconvenience”.

Look, Annette, ultimately it wasn’t the electricity failure that pissed me off. It wasn’t the dirty socks or the sadistic, empty promise of coffee. It wasn’t even that the fuse box was stupidly locked in a room that we couldn’t access – even though that was fucking ridiculous. I mean, come on. If you were going to give us the key anyway, why lock the door in the first place?  Mess with your guests, much?  (For future guests staying in Oceania Retreat, the key is in a small bag, in a box, on a middle shelf in one of the cupboards in the laundry – good luck finding it in the dark.)

No Annette, what really upset me was your email. How long it took me to make my initial complaint is irrelevant; I’m a busy person. And I’m sorry that most of your guests are in bed by midnight, I truly am.  But we paid for the privilege to stay up as late as we wanted.  So sure, we called after midnight, but the power had been out since 9.30pm. We called only because we were out of options and we were worried that the fridge situation was going to become a health hazard. The meat was starting to smell and the beer was getting warm. And that is most certainly not OK.

I know you’re not a hotel. Duh! I’m not interested in a 24 hour concierge desk.  I’m interested in 24 hour electricity.  I have stayed in over 50 holiday homes through companies such as yours, as well as 72 Airbnb rentals. I have never seen a fuse box locked in a room with no access. You know why Annette? Because I’m fairly certain that it’s illegal. And the reason the room was locked? To protect the secret treasure trove of wine and coffee hidden inside (oh yeah, there was fucken coffee!!!). Seriously, if the owner is so concerned about their mediocre wine collection they should find another place to hide it. The fuse box needs to be accessible 24/7.

Your final comment was: “We consider that his matter has been finalised as we dealt with the situation in an appropriate time frame and don’t consider Facebook as the appropriate forum when the situation was resolved.”

Listen, seven hours to respond to what I would call an urgent situation is not dealing with it in an appropriate time frame. And indeed Annette, Facebook was definitely not the best forum on which to air my grievances about Holiday Shacks. High five for pointing that out. Hospitality, you see, is an industry that relies on excellent customer experiences and positive word of mouth. Particularly the rarefied realm of luxury hospitality in which Holiday Shacks lurks. Your website bandies around terms like, “luxury holiday accommodation business”, “luxury coastal and rural holiday homes”, “luxury villas” and “guest luxury experiences”. That’s a whole lotta jive about luxury, Annette. But do you know what I don’t consider a luxury? Electricity. I tend to think of electricity as more of your “essential” type item. You rent mansions (not caravans); on the Mornington Peninsula (not outback Australia). Unlimited access to running water and electricity is not optional. And ten hours without electricity is not an inconvenience. It’s fucking unacceptable. And even worse, avoidable.

Before I finish, I’m going to leave you with a suggestion. Some constructive criticism, if you will. Seeing as you work in customer service, perhaps you could try using a bit more diplomacy next time you receive a complaint. Instead of blaming us, your customers, for a situation that was not our fault, perhaps you could … oh, I don’t know, maybe just think about apologising instead?? Just saying, Annette. I have a feeling that your email to me was so dismissive and contemptuous because you presumed that the final word was yours. But you were wrong, Annette. It’s mine.

And now the matter is finalised.