How to get rid of telemarketers

A friend once told me, "You don't choose your career, it chooses you."

"I get it," I said. "It's like getting raped in prison then."

A few times in my life, a telemarketing career chose me. I'm not proud of that, but apparently it's not my fault.

The best telemarketing job I ever had was working for Austin's Driskill Hotel, selling memberships to the Driskill Club. For just 50 bucks, the club offered one free night's stay for two at the hotel, 20 percent off five additional stays during the year, and 15 percent off the price of entrees at the hotel restaurant. The card was fully transferable, so you could lend it to friends and relatives.

It wasn't a bad deal and the pay was pretty good, but that's not why I liked the job. I liked the job because the boss was gorgeous. That helps.

Every day, we'd start our morning with a motivational meeting and Julia -- dressed in Wrangler jeans which hugged her hips tighter than an Earth Firster at a clear-cutting demonstration -- would deliver an inspirational message.

One day she spoke about the life of Abe Lincoln.

"I know sometimes we all get discouraged with people hanging up on us rudely, but when you look at what President Lincoln had to endure, you can see that failure is nothing more than a temporary setback."

(Pause)

"Listen to the failures Lincoln had to overcome. First, he failed in his race for the state assembly. Then he failed in business. He ran for the U.S. Senate, but lost that race too. Between these two losses, the love of his life suddenly and tragically died. Finally, at the age of 51 and against all odds, he was elected the 16th President of the United States."

(Pause)

"And then he was shot," I said, a little too loudly.

Surprisingly, Julia laughed. Maybe I could do this job, I thought. And I could. For about three weeks.

Another telemarketing job I had involved selling funeral plots. At that job, all our calls were monitored to see how we were doing with our company-prepared script.

"Just read the script and you'll be fine," Mr. Suit said. "Trust me. We've analyzed, revised and scientifically reworked this script. It's a proven winner. Work the script and the script will work for you."

I worked the script. Then I rewrote the script. (I guess technically, Groucho Marx rewrote the script.)

"Hi. My name's Bob Selby and I want to tell you about a prime piece of real estate suitable for long-term retirement. A lot of people want to own this land, but we're willing to push you in ahead of the others. By the way, how's your health?'

I heard Mr. Suit's voice bellow over the intercom. "Mike Jasper, report to the front desk. Mike Jasper, report to the front desk. Immediately."

I lasted one night at that job.

The worst telemarketing job was the one I declined to take. Most telemarketing companies are laid back and maintain offices in a funky room filled with bad lighting and telephones stacked on rickety card tables. But one upscale company I tried to work for did its business in a plush downtown office building. All male employees were required to wear a tie and, worse yet, the training sessions took place in the morning.

Since I needed the money, I put on my tie, caught the early bus, got to the office on time and lined up with the other miserable trainees to fill out tedious forms under the strain of sterile fluorescent lights. From 8 a.m. to noon, we rehearsed our scripts, a tightly-woven sales pitch designed to get unsuspecting customers to change their long-distance service from their current provider to ours.

We were never told who we were working for. Management refused to address that corporate secret until after lunch. When we reconvened for our 1 p.m. meeting, Mr. Suit, our supervisor, eventually revealed to us the mysterious cult we would represent.

"As you may or may not know, any company or non-profit organization can now provide long-distance phone service. The organization we represent is working in tandem with Sprint, one of three major long-distance carriers. Although the actual phone service is provided by Sprint, we initiate the sales, administer the accounts, and charge a fee equal to a ten percent pre-tax profit beyond the amount Sprint charges us for the service."

(Pause)

"The company we represent is a non-profit organization and a major lobbyist in Washington, D.C. Most people we will be contacting are already members of this organization, but occasionally we will cold call some non-members and, quite frankly, some of these people might be critical toward our organization."

He paused again and fixed a stare on me, the cynical-looking baby boomer. "I would remind you that whether or not you support this organization should have no bearing on how well you do your job. We need to conduct ourselves as professionals and remember that there's a lot of money to be made by our efforts."

He then whipped out some charts and showed us how we could all make upwards of ten dollars an hour after six months of employment, provided we stay true to the script and promise not to assault our co-workers.

Finally, he got to the point.

"We're selling long-distance phone service on behalf of the National Rifle Association."

I wanted to shoot the fucker. Instead, I walked out. I think he knew I would. I've done a lot of stupid things in my life, but I don't do grunt work for Moses.

Given my background on the side of the enemy, I believe I'm highly qualified to give advice about...

How to get rid of telemarketers

1) Argue with them. But not on topic.

 

Example:

 

Telemarketer: "Hi, are you the person who makes the decisions about your phone service?"

 

You: "It's about time you guys called. The static on the line's getting worse. When are you going to send out a technician?"

 

Telemarketer: "I'm sorry, you don't understand, we're..."

 

You: "That's right, you don't understand. I want someone out here to fix my fuckin' phones. Don't make me call again."

 

Then hang up. I doubt they'll call back.

 

2) Answer as a Chinese restaurant owner.

 

Your friends will catch on. The telemarketers never will.

 

Ring...

 

"Mo chow, Chinese restaurant. We have wang chung tonight. We have sum yun chick. Waa you wan?"

 

I only tried this once. Whoever it was hung up quickly. Caller ID said the phone call came from my brother, but I doubt it.

 

This is also a good way to get rid of relatives.

 

3) Speak Spanish.

 

"Hola, como esta usted? Tiene una cara como las albondigas."

 

Translation: "Hey, how are you? You have a face like the meatballs."

 

This also usually results in an audible click.

 

4) Get their number and ask if you can call back.

 

This is tricky. They don't like giving out their number any more than you do, but if they're stupid enough to do it, be sure to call back and tell them you're not interested. Every ten minutes.

 

5) Try uncontrollable laughter.

 

6) Try uncontrollable crying.

 

7) Try uncontrollable screaming.

 

8) Ask if there are any job openings.

 

Stutter a lot. Gag if you have to.

 

9) Hang up on them rudely.

 

Even better, try the big sigh and the gentle click. Even better, put down the phone during their spiel and go back to watching TV.

 

10) Ask for me.

One other thing: You may wonder why telemarketers always seem to call just when you're sitting down to dinner. I can tell you why this happens.

It cracks us up.

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it, you're on your own. Copyright 1999 by Mike Jasper