A young Italian had stayed at the YMCA hotel in London.
He wasn't satisfied with his stay, and sent this complaint
to the Manager:
-------------------------------The Letter------------------------
Dear Signore Direttore,
Now I am telling you story how I was treated at your
hotella. I am a-comma from Roma as tourist to London
and stay as a young Christian man at your hotella. When
I comma to my room I see there is no sheet on my bed.
So I calla down to receptione and tella: "I wanta sheet."
They tella me: You go to toilet. No, no you don't understanda
me. I wanta sheet in my bed! You better not shit in your bed,
you son of a bitch! What is sonna-wa-beach?
I ago downe for breakfast in ristorante. I order egg and
bacon and two pieces of toast. I getta only one piece of
toast. I tella waitress and point at toast: I wanta piece!
She tella me: You go to the toilet. No, no I wanta piece on
my plate! You bloody well not piss on the plate! You go
to the toilet!
Why is your staff always saying "Go to toilet?" Is that
a modern British tella? You know, I am 23 years old and I
know for myself when I wanta go to toilet. Then in the
evening I ago downe to ristorante for dinner. Spoon and
knife is laid out on the table. But no fork. I tella waitress:
"I wanta fork!" And she tella me: Sure, everybody wanta
fuck. No,no you don't understand me. I wanta fork on the
table. So you want to fuck on this table? Get your ass
out of here!
How comma this christian hotella tella the guests
in such a bad manner? So I go down to receptione and
ask for bill. I no wanta stay in this hotella no morro.
When I have a-paid the a-billa the portier say to me:
"Thank you, and peace on you."
I say: Piss on you too, you sonna-wa-beach, I now
go back to Italy. Direttore, I never gonna stay in your
hotella no morro, you sonna-wa-beach!.
Sincerely,
Luigi Brampiano, Roma
