Page the Second


A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi. (In front of you, a precipice. Behind you, wolves.)

Friday, July 5, 2013

Phone Salesmen Samba


In my house there is a hatred of louts who ring up just to further their own designs, especially if they ignore our repeated pleas to cease and desist. They use our phone to ring a bell in our house that sends a klaxon call ringing through the halls, dragging us from much-needed sleep or dinner or...um...relations of a matrimonial nature.

I'm not talking about normal friends and family and people in our church, whose calls we mostly welcome. I'm talking about people who don't know us and we don't know, who don't care a half-cooked rat what we think or feel or that we are missing a perfectly good hot dinner.

We don't think it's right that they can ring a bell in our house and we just have to come running like one of Maslow's dogs. There have been a couple of times when I've blasted down the hall dead sick with the flu or something, hit the game cabinet, and nearly knocked myself into an alternate reality. My Hubs asked where I got the gigantic bruise the next day, thinking I was still fighting. I had to tell him it was a stinkin' telemarketer. I wished I'd had the chance to knock him out.

That's why it's open season on telemarketers at our house nearly every time they call. It might be different if we'd rung up asking for a quote on quadruple-paned titanium windows with a twenty-nine-year warranty, but with a swamp cooler, you have to crack the windows for air anyway. Airless windows do not a lick of good. 

If we'd called down to the car window insurance place and said, "Please phone us about twenty-three times this week," it would be a whole different taco. But, you see, we don't. We like to do business face-to-face so we can see their lying eyeballs up close and personal. 

We used to have a phone dedicated to the Internet. We knew if someone called us on it, they were A. Not our friends as they obviously didn't know us well enough to call the correct listed number and B. Certainly a telemarketer, who we had no wish to speak seriously to. When that phone rang, we all climbed over each other to get it, eager to try out our current idea. Some of those calls truly rocked.

A guy once called to talk to me about our mortgage. Me: How come you think you can talk about my marriage? That's pretty private. 
Him: No, your mortgage. 
Me: Well I have a pretty good marriage. I don't know why you have to know anything about it. I don't even know you. 
Him: NO your MORTGAGE! 
Me: You don't have to yell. I hear you just fine. You keep talking about my marriage. 
Me: Sorry. You already know I'm not home alone. We've been discussing my marriage all this time. Can't you hear my kids laughing in the background? 
Me: You don't hear all this racket? I sure wish I was home alone. Maybe I'd get some freakin' work done around here. 
Him: Never mind. Would you like to talk to my manager? 
Me: Why? Does he want to be nosy about my marriage too?
By the end of this call both the marketer and his manager had steam shooting out of their ears and we were rolling on the floor in paroxysms of laughter. 

My daughter used to answer that it was the Pakistani Restaurant (in the appropriate accent). She'd offer a whole list of odd foods.

My son perfected his Arnold Schartzenegger accent and went on to add a great Pinky and the Brain voice (sometimes at the same time).

I could go on and on, but I don't want to tell all our favorite prank answers in case one of you intends to ring us up...:o)

No comments:

Post a Comment