Telemarketers

As I was trying to rest my poor concussed head the phone started ringing. I had the phone on the bed next to me in case any of my children called. (You never know. Sometimes they miss me.)

Due to the swelling in my face I didn't have my reading glasses on. They hurt me too much. So I answered the phone, not knowing who it was.

I could tell right away by the white noise in the phone that a telemarketer was about to come on the line. Spending a lot of time resting gets boring, so I thought I would see if they were trying to pitch me insurance, home security, credit cards, or newspapers.

My short hope of rest was destroyed. I might as well have some fun.

A woman with a very thick accent began jabbering in my ear, "The New York Post is expanding home delivery to your area. You will get the Saturday and Sunday editions including coupons that will save you a lot every week when you are shopping in the New York area."

"Do you know where you are calling," I interrupted.

"Yes, mam, I do," she said.

"Then why are you offering me coupons to use in New York? I live in New England."

"Let me check and see if the coupons will be good where you are." She came back a moment later. "The coupons are good everywhere."

"In that case you should change your script and leave out any mention of where you can use the coupons," I continued to interrupt.

"I don't use a script."

"Yes you do, otherwise you wouldn't have told someone in Massachusetts that they will get coupons good to be used in New York." 

What kind of idiot did she think I was. I had trained to be a telemarketer, until I realized I didn't want to trick people into getting things that could hurt them financially. 

All telemarketers use scripts. The scripts are carefully written and you are not supposed to go off script. If you can keep to the script and keep the pacing right you will make the sale. It is all in the spiel.

(The people who work as telemarketers are not bad people, they have to make a living, but the robocalls have to stop!)

"Mam, please let me finish," she pleaded. I could hear I had rattled her.

"Who owns the New York Post?" I asked.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked. Now she was beginning to sound a little contentious. 

I was having such a good time!

"When I know who owns a paper, then I know what kind of news they print."

No response so I continued. "Who owns the paper."

"Rupert Murdoch," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you," I said.

"Rupert Murdoch. Rupert Murdoch owns the New York Post," her voice was almost a shout.

"Thank you for calling, but I don't want the paper," I said.

"Why not?" She shouted before I could disconnect.

"Because I don't want the paper." I hung up.

And how was your day. Did you find anything amusing to do?