String Cheese - Article Twenty One

Telemarketers talk jive with turkey

By ARYN CORLEY

Without fail, usually around dinnertime, the phone rings. I make my way through a minefield of children’s toys, discarded clothing, and oddly shaped furniture to grab the phone before the caller hangs up.

Could it be a long lost relative wanting to add me to their will?

Could it be the tax office calling to say they made a mistake and my taxes are being lowered?

Perhaps, the governor needs to appoint me as the executive director of the Texas Department of Nonsense.

When I answer the phone I’m immediately disappointed.

“Hello, Mr. Carley,” says the gruff female voice. “Have you thought about your funeral arrangements? What would happen if you were to pass away tomorrow?”

For starters, I wouldn’t have telemarketers bothering me anymore.

I suspect that only mere minutes after Alexander Graham Bell made his historic first phone call, his new device rang and on the other end was a nice lady from Bolivia trying to sell him identity theft insurance. Always the sucker for Bolivian women, Bell agreed and a new era of telephone solicitation was ushered in.

Thanks, Alex.

Anyone aspiring to make a living as a telemarketer must have stalwart determination and a healthy appetite for rejection. It’s the perfect job for people who love to take “no” for an answer. Telemarketer training is also an arduous task. Trainees are kept in small cages and are fed very little food and water while listening to the constant drone of dial tones. The training is so intense it makes the Navy SEALs seem like the Boy Scouts!

How else can someone perform this job without going completely bananas?

I had a telemarketing job once. I worked for a company that tried to sign people up for welding school. It was this job that taught me about the many different ways one can get cussed out over the phone. I lasted one week before I called in and said I couldn’t come to work any more because of my “eardrum infection.”

Since then I’ve been very courteous to telemarketers. However, they’re not exempt from my petty torments.

A children’s book club once called begging me to order more wholesome, family-oriented books for my dear children. When the telemarketer on the other end of the phone line asked me if I was the man of the house I responded negatively.

“I’m only the man after the REAL man leaves.” There was a gasp, and then the line went dead. Needless to say, my children never received the full set of the Dr. Seuss collection.

I’ve learned that credit card companies get very nervous when you speak with a Middle Eastern accent and start asking about frequent flyer miles and untraceable one-way tickets.

I also get many telephone surveys. Those don’t count as telemarketing because they’re asking for something that is not only free, but totally worthless: my opinion. A little skew never hurt anyone.

Regardless of the inconvenience that telemarketers cause, I’m never rude. I always remain polite and whenever possible I try to glean as much information as I can about the telemarketers themselves.

One girl from Toronto, Canada, told me all about the trouble she was having with her sister. Even though I wasn’t going to buy additional life insurance, I was glad I was able to provide her with an ear that would listen to what she really had to say.

Still, there is a part of me that can’t help itself when a telemarketer calls.

“Hello, is Mr. Conley there?” the man asks.

“ Sorry. A bear mauled him earlier today! ,” I respond cheerfully.

“Can I take a message?”