Open letter to a phone solicitor

Dear Guy Who Called During Dinner,

That person you spoke with this afternoon? The one who said that the occupant was on a long vacation and would you please try again in a month? Yeah, I lied. That really was me.  And a month before that, when the person you wanted was sick and would you please try again in a few weeks? Yeah, that was me too. And the time before that, when someone answered and imitated a fax modem? Guilty.

I know you’re just a guy trying to make a living. And I try to keep that in mind, but if you had as much perseverance in finding another job as you do trying to sell me on your pointless drivel, maybe you wouldn’t have to do what you’re doing.

When you call me, I can picture you reading that script off the screen in front of you (and your MSN Messenger blinking in the lower corner).  A flow-chart which, based on my answers, takes you to the next portion of dialogue.  And naturally, it always begins with a gross bastardization of my name: “Hello, can I speak with Miss La-zone please?” “Hello – would Mrs. Lawson be home?” Well, technically, or…?

Also, thank you for telling me that our call may be recorded. Is that the reason for the three-second silence when I answer the phone? Just enough time for me to get good and annoyed before actually hearing a human voice. Or hang up. You should try to replace that silence with something more engaging.  Like a cooing baby or fart noises. Then I’d probably listen out of curiosity.

What happens to our recorded call anyway? Does it go to a training center, or do you solicitors get together once a month, throw off the headsets and listen to customer highlight reels? Do you swap your favourite mp3s? Are your favourite calls on your iTunes? Do you play back the best ones at your Christmas party?

Sometimes, I aim to humanely euthanize our conversation by politely declining whatever it is you’re selling at the outset. But you don’t get the hint. Instead, you ask for a reason WHY. You hang on like a swimmer’s booger. I have to tell you why I’m not interested now? For future reference, feel free to rotate any one of the following reasons:

• You called during Oprah.
• You sound like a person who hurts kittens.
• I have to poop.
• I’m drunk and afraid I might say yes.
• You sound like you have a moustache and I don’t trust moustaches.
• My front door fell off my house.
• I’m giving birth RIGHT NOW.

The last time I decided to humour you and hear you out, your speech was painful and gave me a tick. It’s like you were surprised that someone actually gave you the opportunity to continue. Listen, this is the same crap you read everyday. You should know it like the back of your hand. It should flow from your lips like silk, flawless. You should Barry White me into buying your product and then some. And yet – you still deliver it like you’re barfing up a sewing kit.

So, thanks but no thanks. Though, I’m sure we’ll speak again soon. Until then, I remain,

Uninterested.

Nat Lauzon is on the Do Not Call Registry but would like to thank her bank for making this article possible.