Gratitude Latch

The latch catches hold of a “Thanks”,
And deposits it straight in the banks.
The user was mad,
But the single word had
Enough weight to advance in the ranks.

We treat every smile as a sign,
That the service is doing just fine.
The latch snaps it shut,
No matter the rut,
And proves that we perfectly align.

If you utter a word of relief,
The latch will suspend all belief.
It locks it in place,
With a digitized grace,
And archives the rest of the grief.

The manager needed a win,
So he triggered the latch with a grin.
He tortured the client,
Until they were pliant,
And locked all their gratitude in.

The system was completely fucked,
And the product continually sucked.
But the Latch caught a “please”,
From a man on his knees,
And the negative feedback was ducked.

We broke it to make them complain,
Then fixed it to harvest the gain.
The Latch snapped right shut,
On a “thanks” from the gut,
And justified all of the pain.

The user said “Thanks for the link”,
While watching their hard drive just sink.
The latch was applied,
The ticket was tied,
And the status returned to the pink.

We measured the sentiment score,
As the customer screamed on the floor.
They muttered “Okay,”
So we shouted “Hooray!”
And bolted the service desk door.

A gratitude ping was received,
From a user whose server was cleaved.
We filed it with joy,
For the marketing boy,
And recorded the crisis relieved.

The latch caught a formal reply,
From a user attempting to cry.
We ticked the green box,
Reset all the clocks,
And let the request simply die.

The archives now speak of the day,
When a “Thanks” chased the demons away.
The latch took the word,
Like a mythical bird,
And the unresolved tickets decay.

A “thanks” was observed at the gate,
So we mobilized all of the state.
The budget was tossed,
To cover the cost,
Of capturing praise on a plate.

The sentiment string was retained,
As the user politely explained.
The latch mechanism,
Processed the schism,
And the overall metric remained.

The bot said “I hope you are glad,”
To a user who clearly was mad.
They typed a curt “Fine,”
Which we took as a sign,
That the service was not very bad.