My proudest moment
Yesterday morning, a telemarketer hung up on me.
Awesome.
I was trying to answer a question on behalf of my husband, The Cardholder, but the caller (whose name, if I remembered it, I would make a point to mispronounce) quickly blurted out an "IcanonlyspeakwithJoshuaBanksI'llcallbacklater" before hanging up as I was trying to tell him Josh was sleeping. I think that may have been the first time in history that a telemarketer beat a phone-answerwerwerwer to the punch. Well done.
Confession:
For three months during my sophomore year in college, I was a telemarketer. I worked for this company that solicited money on behalf of public TV and radio ("Have you enjoyed shows such as All Things Considered and Are You Being Served?"), so the annoyance-to-guilt ratio was far less than it would have been if I'd been calling for, say, a random bank or Nicky Hilton's Whore Hotel or something. I found that people were generous and lonely: There were floods in the midwest, but people who didn't have front doors gave to PBS; old men who lost their wives to cancer would keep you on the phone just to have someone to talk to. But then again, bored housewives would read the contents of TV Guide to you and regale you with tales of how they just bought Kathie Lee Gifford's new CD and how they broke their thumb baking a bundt. Barfy.
Good to know, though: Telemarketers will always try to offer whatever they're offering three times before letting you go, should you be so inclined to not hang up on them first. When I quit, my boss asked me three times to stay, and I laughed (and died a little, for him) inside. Oh! In February 1994, I was Phoner of the Month.
Oh! And my favorite mispronounciation of my name was when someone called my house and asked if José or Maria was there. That day, more than any other, made me wish I had taken Spanish in high school.
The end.
Awesome.
I was trying to answer a question on behalf of my husband, The Cardholder, but the caller (whose name, if I remembered it, I would make a point to mispronounce) quickly blurted out an "IcanonlyspeakwithJoshuaBanksI'llcallbacklater" before hanging up as I was trying to tell him Josh was sleeping. I think that may have been the first time in history that a telemarketer beat a phone-answerwerwerwer to the punch. Well done.
Confession:
For three months during my sophomore year in college, I was a telemarketer. I worked for this company that solicited money on behalf of public TV and radio ("Have you enjoyed shows such as All Things Considered and Are You Being Served?"), so the annoyance-to-guilt ratio was far less than it would have been if I'd been calling for, say, a random bank or Nicky Hilton's Whore Hotel or something. I found that people were generous and lonely: There were floods in the midwest, but people who didn't have front doors gave to PBS; old men who lost their wives to cancer would keep you on the phone just to have someone to talk to. But then again, bored housewives would read the contents of TV Guide to you and regale you with tales of how they just bought Kathie Lee Gifford's new CD and how they broke their thumb baking a bundt. Barfy.
Good to know, though: Telemarketers will always try to offer whatever they're offering three times before letting you go, should you be so inclined to not hang up on them first. When I quit, my boss asked me three times to stay, and I laughed (and died a little, for him) inside. Oh! In February 1994, I was Phoner of the Month.
Oh! And my favorite mispronounciation of my name was when someone called my house and asked if José or Maria was there. That day, more than any other, made me wish I had taken Spanish in high school.
The end.
Labels: randomness, the hubs, work
posted by Marla at 9:11 PM
1 Comments:
gonna lay down my sword and shield, down by the riverside. amen. the end. word.
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