“Even telemarketers have to eat.”
Those five little words were offered to me as an excuse for interrupting me in the middle of a staff meeting. I did not see the point in explaining to this invasive telemarketer that my “meeting” was with the office cat who naps on my keyboard in the afternoon and meows angrily and very loudly if disturbed by the phone; I politely explained that now was not a good time to talk and that no matter what he was selling I was not buying but if he wanted to leave a number I would call him back never.
The telemarketer was unfazed and launched right into his script: “I know you’re busy and I realize the value of your time,” he read awkwardly.
“If you realize the value of my time,” I interrupted, ”then why are you wasting it?”
“Dude,” he said, “Even telemarketers have to eat.” And he hung up. This surprised me. I would never hang up on anyone, not even a telemarketer, and certainly not someone who I thought was a prospective customer, but after this indignity, my crusade began.
It was only the next day when a strident, nasally voice called for “the owner”, a dead giveaway that it was a telemarketer. “The owner is not available,” I said evenly.
“Well where is he?” said the Voice and I saw my opening. “He’s in a Bolivian prison,” I ad libbed.
The Voice paused; this option was clearly not in her script. “When will he be back?” she asked.
“In ten to twenty, but it might be sooner for good behavior,” I responded. ”Is there a message?” And then she hung up which irked me since I had gone out of my way to be pleasant to her.
This is why I had no guilt when I received another call at closing time the same day from a voice that sounded like, but I assumed wasn’t, Paula Deen. “I’m calling about your copier,” said Paula.
“Are you the one who took it?” I asked accusingly. “And now you want a ransom?” And Paula hung up.
I was annoyed again the next day when a telemarketer told me I could save big on offices supplies. It so happens I am very loyal to Office Depot and I said so, and then said firmly, “But thank you for calling.”
“Are you telling me you don’t want to save?” said the telemarketer snarkily, and I was off. “What about you?” I asked. “Have you been saved?”
His voice scaled up a notch. “What?”
“Have you been saved?” I repeated. “Are you a sinner? Are you an heir to the vice of drink? Drugs? Fornication? Gluttony? Do you use Velcro?” I was all set to keep going but he had already hung up on me.
You might not believe it, but coming up with snappy rejoinders is exhausting, so yesterday when I got the umpteenth call asking for “the office manager” I said “One moment please,” and put the phone down in front of the office cat who was, again, napping on my desk.
I could hear the telemarketer’s voice, far away and tinny. The cat meowed loudly. The telemarketer kept talking. “Rowwwrr!!” said the cat, and began meowing nonstop into to mouthpiece. A moment later the cat hissed angrily and jumped off the desk. The telemarketer was still reading her script when I hung up softly.
A moment later the phone rang; it was the same telemarketer. “Could I speak to the office manager again?” she asked anxiously. “We were disconnected but she sounded very interested in high speed internet service.”
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