Tell It to the Telemarketers

Lately, I’ve been inundated by phone calls. I must be very popular — far more so than when I was in high school.

Some callers vibrate with the enthusiasm of an over-caffeinated game show host. I’ve won cruises, resort stays, free lunches at a funeral home! If I promise to die soon.

I also receive helpful calls from Tibetan yak milkers named Paul: “Your com-pu-ter sick. Do what I say.”

Goodbye, Paul.

When a caller uses impressive cyber vocabulary, I apply my husband’s astute observation: we can’t reach IT when we need them. Now they’re calling us out of the goodness of their hearts?

Charity calls often are made by ladies who sound like my third-grade teacher. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Daugherty. But, unlike Congress, Hubby and I stay within our budget.

Other callers sound like Al Capone. Because I’ve hidden huge assets from the government, the IRS has custom-designed cement shoes for me. Unless I grant immediate access to my bank accounts, I will take up residence at the bottom of Lake Michigan.

So far, I haven’t had to develop gills.

Occasionally, though, I experience shortness of breath when asked to take “two-minute surveys” that morph into interrogations.

The worst part? They never want to take mine.

This year, my birthday generated a gazillion new phone fans: Medicare supplement companies. Some representatives get right to the point: “Are you breathing?”

“No.”

Click.

 I’ve declared myself dead to a hundred insurance telemarketers. Still, they call.

Representatives whose mothers taught them manners inquire, “How are you?”

Since they’re nice enough to ask, I tell them.

“This weather bothers my knees something awful, though my aunt Tildy’s ankles gave her even more trouble. Goose grease worked, but it made her socks slide down. …”

Or, “I’m so upset. My garbage can blew away. Finally found it. But one step into that yard, and a Doberman big as a pony licked me like I was a giant doggy treat!”

When glum telemarketers call, I make every effort to cheer them: “I feel like singing! Hey, let’s sing together! A-one, a-two, a-three …”

Sadly, few join in belting out “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

Despite their lack of patriotism — and my membership on the no-call list — phones keep ringing. Not only do telemarketers inundate my landline, but using local numbers, they now call my cell phone.

I’ve considered answering with heavy breathing.

Friends advise, “Don’t pick up! Ignore a number you don’t recognize.”

But such rude behavior would lower me to their level.

Besides, free speech is granted even to telemarketers. As long as they don’t use abusive language, they can call me.

(snicker) If they dare.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What’s your favorite turn-off-the-telemarketer technique?

2 thoughts on “Tell It to the Telemarketers

    1. rachael

      Hahaha, Dori! Love that response! Why blow a whistle into the phone when we can get creative?

      Blessings on your day, and God help your telemarketers 🙂

      Rachael

      Reply

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