Ten years after she wrote that first complaint letter, the former middle school English teacher, 51, is the proprietor and sole employee of Ellen's Poison Pen Inc., devoted to helping disgruntled consumers fight for their rights. And though many of her clients' problems are mundane—luggage lost at the airport, hotel reservations inexplicably lost—Phillips has also helped single mothers petition for child-support payments. She even appealed successfully to Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, asking that an elderly British woman be allowed to immigrate to the United States to spend her last years with a sister.
"I like to think of myself as a professional problem-solver," says Phillips, who shares tips and a few choice war stories in a recently published book, Shocked, Appalled, and Dismayed! Carol Guiles, a Virginia teacher who used Phillips's services to restore some credits the local university had deleted from her transcript, calls Phillips "a miniature bulldog, all teeth." Still, she says, the poison-pen wielder is far from rude. "She's tenacious, but she's really quite a lady."
And therein, says Phillips, lies the secret of successful complaining. "No one reacts well to being attacked," she writes. So whether you're squawking about a cracked beer bottle or a dangerously malfunctioning automobile air bag—she handles nearly 800 such cases a year—Phillips advises remaining cool, calm and organized. Save your receipts and record the names of everyone you speak to. Address your letter to the company's highest-ranking officer and send copies to as many execs, regulatory organizations and watchdog groups as possible. "People shouldn't feel embarrassed to talk about this kind of thing," says Jean Ann Fox, director of consumer protection for the Consumer Federation of America. "They have a duty to complain."
Once they do, says Phillips, they should be concise—clear about what they expect to receive and quick to explain what they'll do if they're not satisfied. "Hang on, harangue and harass," writes Phillips, who says she gets satisfaction for 75 percent of her clients. "You may get discouraged, but you must not forfeit the fight. See it through until the end!"
A native of Greenville, Ala., Phillips learned about resilience the hard way. The second of three children born to an insurance salesman and his wife, Phillips contracted polio at 7 and was told she would never walk again. Ignoring the experts, her parents found a controversial massage therapy that restored feeling in her legs. After 2½ years, Phillips celebrated Christmas by rising from bed and taking three steps across her room. "The doctors said it was a miracle," she recalls.
Making up for lost time, Phillips roared into high school, where she made the honor roll and became head cheerleader. After graduating from Alabama's Troy State University, she began her teaching career. An early marriage (that produced her daughter, Beth Runkles, 32, a homemaker and the mother of three) ended in 1969, and after meeting Bruce Phillips, now 52, a biological materials salesman, on a blind date, she married him in 1982. "He's not a complainer," she notes approvingly.
Though she has had a steady stream of clients since printing her first business cards in 1988, Phillips saw her life transformed by a Washington Post profile two years ago. Deluged with customers eager to pay her rate of $15 per 100 words, she quit teaching last December. Now that she's able to devote herself full-time to the work that's making her famous, Phillips has a lot to smile about. Still, the consummate complainer won't let happiness derail her career. "I'll argue," she says, "until hell freezes over."
Peter Ames Carlin
Rochelle Jones in Alexandria
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- Rochelle Jones.
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