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a peeve named
telemarketing
back to: my pet peeve ∙
duck & cover
ATTENTION
TELEMARKETERS:
 First, a disclaimer -- Let me just say up front that I
appreciate you're just doing your job. You have bills to
pay, I get that. And because I understand this is your job, I never hang up on
you and I'm never rude to you. I
know what it's like to be on the receiving end of customer abuse.
Maybe some of you like your jobs, I suspect many of you probably don't, but
regardless it's a job.
Having said that...it's my own fervent wish
that your entire industry be suddenly sucked into the gaping maw of the
deepest pits of Hell, lashed for eternity with frayed phone cords while
terrorized with the incessant sound of millions of telephones that NEVER
STOP RINGING. Were that to happen, yours truly would personally do the
Snoopy Happy Dance with unadulterated joy.
Why the hostility, you ask?
I regularly receive between seven and
thirteen calls. Each. And. Every. Night. I did the math (it's
not hard, it's averages) and that's approximately one call every twenty-four
minutes from 5 PM until 9 PM. That's not counting the calls during the
day (the four to eleven hang-ups on the answering machine every
day) nor the ones after 9 PM.
No matter that I rarely answer. On
those occasions that I do answer and am greeted with your very obvious call --
did you think I wouldn't figure out it was you, with that long pause at the
beginning, where I say 'hello' about fifteen times before you finally speak up?
-- I automatically respond with "No, she's not here, may I take a
message?" It's a polite way to put you off without telling you exactly
where you can shove that vinyl siding, an "out", as they say.
You never take it, though. Also,
I'll note here that at least half of the time I ask this question, you
respond with: "Well, is your mom or dad home?" Heh.
Nope, you aren't easily dissuaded.
Because you are apparently unable to take a hint, the ringer on my phone is
now turned off most of the time. I admit, except for the mad dash for
the phone when the machine picks up and I realize it's someone I actually
want to talk to, life is much more peaceful, even if it took awhile to get used
to the answering machine piping up out of nowhere.
But that's hardly
the point, is it?
Now before you tell me there's this great
service offered by the phone company that radically decreases or entirely
eliminates solicitation calls by making you press the pound key or whatever...I know. My dad works for the phone company. He has it, he loves
it. I agree that it's a great and wondrous thing and would no doubt
make you little telemarketing trolls disappear into your little
telemarketing troll caves if I had it on my phone.
But no.
First, it costs money. Not a lot, sure,
but I'm trying to keep costs down and the phone bill is already a source
of irritation -- I mean, thirty five dollars a month just for the
privilege of having the stupid thing and that's before I make any kind
of long-distance calls (which I don't...gotta love those cell phones).
Plus the phone company finds a way to tax and fee every red cent on the bill already so
when they add a new service, it's never as simple as the ten bucks or
whatever added to my regular bill, oh no. It'll end up being more
like thirty dollars after they add a tenth of a cent for every letter in my
name and a per outlet charge and an FCC regulatory fee that's calculated
by the inverse square of the last seven digits of my phone number.
Still, if money were the only reason, I'd bite the bullet and get the service.
Really, though, my main reason is much
simpler, much more basic: principle.
You know, principle? I assume you're at least acquainted with the term
even if you don't have cause to use it much. Anyway, it's the
principle of the thing.
Because really, it's my damn phone and
I shouldn't have to pay extra just to keep you from interrupting my
tranquil hours at home with your constant, annoying phone calls for crap I
don't need and am never, ever going to purchase over the phone from a
troglodyte with a quota.
It's an insult and I'm making a stand.
In fact, I've come up with the most brilliant
plan ever for dealing with this problem, which is why I'm writing you today.
While I'm certain you won't like my idea, you'll have to agree it is indeed
one of unassailable genius.
Since it's my phone -- I do pay the bill,
after all -- I think I should get to decide who is allowed to call me for
free. It's only fair, really. I mean, I have a phone so that I
can be contacted at any time, in case, say, my mom needs to tell me she just
thought of a great name for a dog I don't have. That doesn't mean my phone is
just ringing off the hook every hour of the day with calls from everyone I
know. But the whole purpose of having the phone is in case
everyone I know wants to call me at any hour of the day. It's
more of an insurance policy: you pay so it's there when you need it.
(The commercial you're now trying to think of is "Physician's Mutual.")
The one reason I don't have a phone is
so that I can suffer the harassment of an auto-dialer and some guy who wants
to sell me a time-share in Snake's Navel, Utah. I didn't sign up for
that and I don't think I should have to pay thirty-something bucks per month
so I can either avoid my phone or suffer the consequences of answering it.
So here's my idea:
In addition to regular phone numbers,
everyone has an additional four-digit PIN that only they know, just like ATM
cards. How would this work? Well, when I give my number to say,
my friend Kim,
I'd give her my number and the PIN. To call me, she'd dial the number
plus the PIN and bingo bango, we're talking for two hours
about the fabulous thing that is BookCrossing. She gets my PIN, she can call me just
like always (except for the four extra numbers).
Now if you don't have those four numbers, it means you have to pay a charge of ten cents per minute that's payable to
my phone account. Yeah, sucks to be you but hey! that's the cost of doing business. If I had
wanted you to call me, I'd have given you the PIN.
If you're a telemarketer, you can still call
me if you want. In fact, I hope you do. Then it's your dime
(literally) and you can talk your little troglodyte heart out about the
Plutonium
Rewards MasterCard I don't want. When I'm in a pinch for a little extra cash, I would
even welcome such a call. I can't promise I'd pay attention and I can
guarantee I won't be buying anything you're selling, but by all means, ring
me up. I figure that with the average number of calls I get right now,
my phone bill would become a welcome sight in the mailbox...in addition to
making my phone service free, I could finally get that digital camera I've
had my eye on for awhile.
There would also be a five minute minimum charge to
cover my time of having to pick up the phone and decide whether or not I
want to hear your annoying speech. My time is valuable, after all.
Plus, I wouldn't want you to think you could just call me, rattle off your
breathless litany in less than a minute, realize I'm not buying
anything, and only have to pay a few cents. You want to make that
sell, it's gonna cost you. Well, you're not gonna make that sell, but
that's beside the point, really.
See? It's a win-win for everyone.
I'm properly compensated for the waste of my time, you aren't unfairly
sponging off services I pay for.
So let's hurry up and get this plan in
place...I have a digital camera to buy.
07.01.03
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