Why I Tolerate
Those Annoying Telemarketing Calls
Carolyn J.
Rose
Almost every evening the phone rings and the screen display indicates a number I don’t recognize. Many of my friends let calls like that go to voice mail, but I'm from an age when the phone didn't ring often, and a call might mean a shift in the status quo—bad news about an ailing family member or, on the other end of the spectrum, an invitation to a movie or a party. It’s hard to buck that history, so I pick up the receiver and utter a tentative “Hello.”
Often there’s
a pause. Sometimes, I hear an electronic whisper like wind on the prairie. Then
there might be a few distant clicks and finally a voice, frequently mumbling
and sometimes obscured by a heavy accent.
If that voice
refers to me as Mrs. Rose or Mrs. Nettleton, I know for sure this is a
stranger. I use Ms. And I didn’t take my husband’s name. Friends and relatives
know that.
So now I have
several choices: hang up, ask the person to correct their records, listen to
their spiel, or jerk their chains.
I take choice
#4.
“Mrs. Rose was
my mother,” I say. Or, “Mrs. Nettleton was my mother-in-law.” Then I bring out
the big gun. I use the word “dead.”
This results
in another long pause, sometimes followed by: “Who is this?” My reply is, “Who
is this?” or “Why do you want to know?”
This usually
leads to another long pause while the person at the other end searches their
script for a response. Sometimes I get a rushed explanation or a mumbled
apology. Often my statement is enough to make them hang up.
If I’ve driven
them to disconnect, I feel a spurt of gleeful joy. That’s often followed by a
wave of guilt.
The person on
the other end of that call was trying to do a job—maybe a job needed to feed a
family. The call to my number might have been critical to whether a quota was
made and a paycheck delivered. Whether someone got a meal or got evicted.
I feel
grateful that I was on the receiving end and not the one in a boiler room with hundreds
of calls to be made and a strict schedule to keep.
And I’m
grateful that I’m able to realize I have choices when the phone rings, that I
have some wits about me and am not likely—at least not yet—to be sucked into a financial
commitment or a scam.
As long as I’m
able to mess with their minds, they’re less likely to be able to mess with
mine.
