by Bad Girl
I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of telemarketing. Not that I have anything against the telephone, per se. Personally, I think Alexander Graham Bell deserves sainthood. After all, without the phone, how would we ever know what our teenage daughters are doing?
My beef is that no matter when a teenage daughter walks away from a phone, it inevitably rings and there’s a salesperson on the other end. In fact, the only time I ever get a phone call these days is when somebody wants my money.
Salesperson: “Hello! Is this Mrs. Campbell?”
Me (Suspicious. No one calls me Mrs. Campbell): “Who is this?”
Salesperson: “How are you tonight?”
Me: “Are you selling something?”
Salesperson: “Me? Ha ha. Oh no. Don’t be ridiculous. Does your house have aluminum siding?”
Me: “I knew it.
Salesperson: “Duct cleaning? New windows? Lawn spray?”
Me: “I live in a tent.”
Salesperson: “INSURANCE! You need insurance. Let me tell you about our extended fire policy for teepees-"
The phone rings again.
Second Salesperson: “Is this the Campbell residence?”
Me: “No, you dolt. When was the last time you talked to a building?”
Second Salesperson: “And how are you tonight?”
Me: “I’m going to get a gun.”
Second Salesperson: “Well, you are going to feel even better. Because YOU have been especially chosen to receive this beautiful set of genuine rat bone steak knives, simply by answering a few questions for this totally legitimate and potentially useless marketing survey which they are paying me diddleysquat to administer: Do you have aluminum siding?”
Me: “No. But do you sell guns?”
I am starting to fight back. There is going to be a new ring of Hell built solely for the nameless carbon based life forms who call up poor homeowners in the dinner hour. I am going to help build it. In the meantime, in the grand tradition of the best defense being a good offense, here is my new technique:
Third Salesperson: “I’m from the Wheelchair Volleyball Association.”
Me: “Don’t be ridiculous. Wheelchairs don’t play volleyball.” (click)
Fourth Salesperson: “Hello, is this Mrs. Campbell?”
Me (giggling insanely): “Ollie, oh goody! It’s another salesperson! You trace the call while I put the meat cleaver in the car-“