Option Letter (Revised 2009)

Dear [Name of Client],

Let me first say that all of us here at [Name of Company] were very shocked and surprised to find out about your wish to discontinue our business relationship.  You must believe me when I say to you, that this is the part of my job that I truly hate.

For several [years/some months], you have depended on us to provide the sort of seamless, dependable services that you have come to rely upon in order to grow your business.  To be quite honest, we have also come to rely upon your prompt payments for our services to pad our bottom line - contrary to popular misconception, corporate jets are as expensive as ever!  

Sounds like what we have here is a co-dependent relationship, which as most mental health professionals will tell you , is not a good thing - someone is always let down.  In this case, it’s you.

It is our complete and reckless dependence on your business that moved us to hire our legal team to draft a document several years back called the Customer Service Agreement, or as we refer to it in ambiguous double-talk, the CSA.


Remember when one of our representatives came by your place of business not too long ago and asked you (or maybe just someone standing in your lobby) to update your CSA?

We do, and trust me, we made copies.

Enclosed is a copy of the most recent CSA that you or someone in your employ (perhaps a member of a third-party janitorial service) signed, stating that he or she was in authority to extend your business agreement with us another [36 to 60] months.

Make no mistake, this is a legal and binding document.  Believe me, it was not cheap to hire one of the most feared law firms in the free world to draft such an iron-clad contract.  In fact, when you told me last week that you couldn’t believe your eyes when you opened your billing statement from us, it reminded me of our surprise eighteen years ago when we got the bill from Stearns, Gloucester, and Stein!

While we are on the subject of things that you said over the phone last week, I would like to revisit one particularly unsavory comment that was made in what I now believe was a moment of weakness and fear.  Neither I, nor any member of my company (that I know of), is currently nor have ever been a practicing member of the Nazi party.  I understand that in times of financial distress (48% increase on your last bill) we can all say some things that we don’t mean, so I am willing to overlook your slanderous (maybe?) comment.

However, one other comment that you made makes no sense to me and I should like to revisit it now, in this letter.

When you said that my company and I were making you feel as if you were, “held hostage,” how, exactly, did you mean that?

Although most would agree that being held hostage is not a good thing, my mind immediately jumped to Nelson Mandela and the trials he had with his own South African government.  He was “held hostage” for 27 years, but still he emerged to become the first democratically elected president of his country and later won the Nobel Peace prize - I think it is safe to say, that being “held hostage” is not always a bad thing.

Also, you might reference Patty Hearst, she was held hostage by a left-wing guerrilla group and developed Stockholm Syndrome, which is a condition in which the captive starts to identify with the captor.  If I may speak openly, I think our business relationship could use a little less finger-pointing, and a whole lot more of what Ms. Hearst discovered.  Food for thought...

Anyway, back to your contract, or “agreement.”  As our current records show, the terms of your most recently signed CSA show that you are bound to honor the terms of this agreement until June of 2012, unless my assistant finds a more recently signed document, which could happen because the office is such a mess right now from our weekly “Champagne and Caviar Wednesdays.”


After you break into the fifth case of bubbly, these little parties can get out of hand in a hurry - I am sure you can identify.

But, assuming that this is the most current document we can find, it is now my job (the part I really hate, remember) to make you aware of your options going forward:

Option 1: 

Honor the existing agreement that you (or someone) signed and keep moving forward like nothing ever happened.  We have found this to be the most agreeable and polite of all options.  Best of all, it requires no additional effort on either of our parts - Bonus!

Option 2:

Honor the existing agreement to the end of its term and discontinue services by sending a letter “certified mail” with your intent to cancel not less than 60, but not more than 59 days prior to cancellation date.  Quite honestly, this is a coward’s way out, and we do not recommend it.

Option 3:

You may prematurely exit your existing agreement by paying what our company refers to as “Liquidated Damages”.  Liquidated damages for your account amount to either six months of the base rate of your current bill plus any current balance, or six months of my boss’ current car payment, whichever is greater.  (Note:  My boss is currently driving a  2009 7 series BMW, which she claims she got “for a steal”, so you may be in luck!)

On behalf of myself and the rest of the staff here at [Your Company Name Here], we hope that you have found this correspondence full of valuable information and erupting with agreeable options.  Please take the time to review your wide array of choices and select the one that works best for both of us (hint: Option 1).

If you have not responded to us within 12 hours of receiving this letter we shall assume that you have selected Option 1 (remember, no additional work on your part) and wish to continue down the path that our companies have so boldly forged together - a path paved with trust, encapsulated in honesty, and leading toward a new world of honor, prosperity and profit!  

Please forgive me, I tend to get a little dramatic when I think about our shared business relationship of [years/some months].

Anyhoo, better let me know something pretty soon - tick-tock, tick-tock...

With Warmest Regards to You and Yours This Holiday Season,

Beau M. Adams

La La's Game (Happy Thanksgiving)

On Thanksgiving morning this year I woke up a little late, and when I got downstairs Cari had already made coffee and was preparing her twice-baked sweet potatoes along with her deviled eggs to take over to Mom’s later in the day.

Cari is 7 and 1/2 months pregnant right now and she looked so beautiful in her apron, which was partially covered in baking flour and was doing its best to conceal the pumpkin-sized belly underneath.

Since she had a head start on me, and I was not cooking anything for Thanksgiving this year, I decided my job would be to blow leaves and water the lawn.  

It was an absolutely glorious November morning.  The air was cool and dry and still.  The sun hit my back and shoulders, and it warmed me all the way through.  Since I am protective of my hearing, I had my earplugs in, shutting out the noise of the blower and virtually reducing my world to only what I could see in front of me.

As  I continued to blow all of the leaves into a large pile at the base of my oak tree I couldn’t help but think about Thanksgiving and what it means to me.  I also couldn’t get the idea of how preposterous my current actions might have seemed to the first settlers of this country, the ones we often imagine when we think of the first Thanksgiving.

Almost certainly, my image of the first Thanksgiving is a myth likely created in equal parts by coloring books, grade school, and things that my grandparents told me.  In my mind it is a pristine affair with all invitees in period dress set before a table crowded with cuisine that would rival any four-star restaurant.

The natives are dressed in their full leather beaded tops and pants along with their dress moccasins, there hair woven and braided as to pull it away from their flawless, tanned skin only to reveal their beautiful and prominent features.   Many of them wear a decorative beaded headband, but no headdresses are spotted.  I imagine that the horses they rode to the event are out of sight, having their own version of Thanksgiving consisting of hay and apples provided to them by the Pilgrim Wives Auxiliary.

The pilgrims are a vision in black with their conservative coats, knickers, and buckled accessories that add just the right amount of zip to their otherwise staid and puritan attire.  Their hats are tall and well shaped and their shoes and belts shined to mirror quality.  And no one has dirt beneath their fingernails.

The weather is agreeable and cooperative that day as the large well crafted dining table is set outside for the feast.  A deciduous forest with its leaves hemorrhaging magnificent yellows, oranges, and reds provides the backdrop.  The air is absent of wind and the sun is shining, but not in annoying way, where it might be a distraction.  Perhaps it is dappled by the autumn leaves gently finding their way to the ground.

Before the great feast there are countless blessings put upon the food and the goodwill being forged between the newcomers and the rightful inhabitants of this beautiful land, who are really happy that the puritans came along because they really wanted some new friends.

I then laughed to myself, or maybe aloud (after all, I had earplugs in), and thought about how absurd my version of the first Thanksgiving had become, and how much I dearly loved it, anyway.

We were the last of the guests to arrive at Mom’s house and when we got to the door we were enveloped in hugs, kisses, and smiles.  All of the family flooded the entry way and shoved their way towards us creating the most wonderful sense of claustrophobia.  It was a nearly overwhelming scene and I made a mental note to always be the last to arrive from now on.

As we waited for the dinner to finish its long journey from purchase to preparation we talked and laughed, told stories and explained inside jokes, and eventually went outside to throw the football around the yard.  Those who did not participate were fortunate enough to be entertained by my Aunt Deresa’s inventive receiving style, which included an almost total implosion of her midsection as the ball arrived at her body, my God brother Gabriel’s unconventional passing attempts that involved a post-throw kick in the air courtesy of his trailing lower leg, and perhaps the best arm of a non-drafted free agent belonging to my pregnant wife.  I’ve never had more fun throwing the football with three people and part of me fears I never will again.

Dinner time was nearing so we moved inside and I made certain to tell my mother to make sure that no one started eating this year until we all had told each other what we were thankful for.  Upon hearing this announcement, my Aunt Deresa, whose grandchildren have nicknamed her La La, exclaimed, “We’re going to do that again this year?  I hate that game.”

I laughed and asked Cari if she could explain to La La that it was not a game so much as it was an actual expression of your feelings of thankfulness and gratitude.  This information did nothing to change La La's feelings towards the exercise, and she proceeded to tell everyone to stop talking to her so that she may try to think of something that she was thankful for, presumably in attempt not to lose “the game”.

We set before a table expertly decorated by my God brother Allan and proceeded to speak, one at a time, in an effort to describe what we were all thankful for.  Most were thankful for the other members of the family at the table, some were thankful for the return of Whitney Houston to the top of the pop charts (Gabriel), and even the food got a mention.  When it came to my turn I pulled out of my pocket a small field notebook and, with apologies for delaying the feast, I began to read what I had written earlier that morning in anticipation of the Thanksgiving Game:

“What would the pilgrims think of our version of Thanksgiving?

They would probably be overwhelmed by the massive amounts of food, the impressive display of holiday decor, not to mention the invention of central heat and air.

But, what did the pilgrims know, anyway?  These were people who wore buckles on their hats.

All differences aside, surely they would approve of the common theme of our very different thanksgiving celebrations.  Friends and family gathering to proclaim their most heartfelt thanks for the gifts that they have received.

Continuing their tradition, I would like to express my thanks for the people at this table.

I am thankful for my Mother who worries too much, loves too much, and does too much.  And as often as I may protest, I am glad that she does.

I am thankful for Deresa and Wayne.  There is not a person in the world that could be in Aunt Deresa’s presence and keep a smile from drawing across their face.  And no one could love her more than “Homer”.  For that, I am thankful.

I am thankful for Gabe and Allan.  Their love, talent, and grace provide an energy that everyone should be so lucky to witness.

I am thankful for Coach Jones, who puts up with our eccentricities, and greets our family dramas with strength and humor.

I am thankful for my brother, Christopher, my hero.  He accomplishes more on a daily basis than most of us can claim in a decade.

I am thankful for Aunt Pat and Uncle Jay.  Aunt Pat breathes new life into this family, and my uncle Jay, as always, is the most charming person I have had the privilege to know.

I am thankful for my wife, Cari.  It is no small task to put up with a person such as myself, and she does it with grace and ease.  She is the most intelligent, talented, and beautiful woman I have ever known.  She defends the defenseless and supports the fallen.  She always seems to be on the right side of an argument, which can be really frustrating for me, but that is why I love her.  She makes me re-visit everything I thought I already knew about life, and then patiently waits for me to catch up.  Her support is unending and her love is absent of judgement.  This is why she will be such a great Mother.

I am thankful for little Grey Matthew.  If I had any advice for him in his future dealings with this family, I would say, ‘Just be yourself.’  The chances are better than average, given your pedigree, that you will be a little different than most of the people you know, and that is okay.

Because the thing that I am most thankful for, is the fact that my family is not boring.  Boring just doesn’t cut it in this family.

And there is something to be said for a family where the only way to fit in, is to not fit in.

That is truly something to be thankful for.”

Happy Thanksgiving 2009