Wednesday 28 September 2016

A New Ring of Hell for TELEMARKETERS

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-"

Me:  (click)

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-“


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