This whole thing started with the news story (from May 5th's Arizona Republic) about cable/satellite and long distance phone companies sending out groups of door-knockers to drum up sales BECAUSE it's so hard (for amateurs) to do telemarketing now. I found that a relevant news item, so I decided to make it my "lead" story for my Mother's Day news. As I was making my very patronizing "O.G.C.", I realized (at the end) that "Hey this should be a commentary..." So I went and made it one. Enjoy!
Overnight Guy's Comment: You fucking dipshit/dumbass people. You never once stopped to think about how telemarketers eliminated 95% of all door-to-door salespeople, did you? Well you'll be paying for it now, ha-fucking-ha. Some of these door-knockers knock UNTIL you come and acknowledge them, too. Can you imagine a person knocking on your door for 10 minutes straight? Hanging up the phone doesn't seem NEARLY as inconvenient now, does it? But I'm going to stay with the phone sales. I like being able to ruin your whole day while I sit, roll my eyes, and shoot birds at the computer screen. And even though I don't write down your name, address, and phone number if you piss me off--I know a few who do. Hey this should be a commentary...
Let's talk about that "intrusive" daytime/dinner time phone call. Before you even hear my voice, I'm looking at a computer screen with your name, your address, and your phone number on it. Before you open your mouth, I already know that you're home, and that you are too dumb to let your answering machine "screen" your calls. Some of my former fellow telemarketers are crack babies, meth-heads, and drug-dealers; many of them are high at work, and most of them do not have stable home lives. Do you really want to piss these people off? Think about that for a minute (I scared the crap out of both my parents with this little factoid.).
There certainly aren't any at my current job (snicker), but I know other telemarketers who write down the names, addresses, and phone numbers of people who say cute things like "Don't call me again!" and "Take me off your list!" and (my personal favorite) "Why don't you give me YOUR home phone number?", and then slam the phone down--AS IF that insures getting the last word in on a phone caller (good luck). Remember; you're "Caller ID" bullshit doesn't work on us--because we call you on multiple "phantom" phone lines (Have you bought a tele-zapper, too? How's that workin' out for ya?). And; EVEN IF YOU COULD trace a phone call all the way back to the telemaketing room it came out of (you could not), there would still be no way to determine which station it came from-and I've seen rooms with over 300 phones. EVEN IF YOU COULD get a whole room full of telemarketers fired one night (you could not), there'd be another wave of teenage mothers, crack addicts, and pissed off ex-radio DJ's (hey that's me) there the next night--doing the same thing.
I have watched some pretty scary people leave work with lots of names and phone numbers scribbled down on a piece of paper. And after they get all geeked and tweeked and freaked out on their particular drug of choice, who do you think they call on their little cell phones with the free long distance? I want you to do some math for me; my city is a top-3 methamphetamine producer in the country, and my city is (roughly) tied with Tampa for having the most telemarketing rooms in the country (almost 200 rooms here). Got it? Here's your math question: where do the crack-heads work? #3, and #1; isn't math fun?
#2 Some people (still) don't know why their phone rings, they pick it up, and instead of the 4 second delay, they just get nothing at all. Well, hopefully (from #1 above) you have figured out that YOU were not the "chosen" one by the auto-dialer. But there is one other possibility...See; most teenage mothers and crack addicts don't really want to work; they only want a paycheck. So they just sit there, with their headphones muted, and "recieve" the calls from the auto-dialer--but they don't actually "talk" to anybody (you hear a dead line). These "fake" telemarketing pussies give us all a bad name. And don't you say a word to me about THEM! I am MORE than willing to trade insults with every caller I get; I don't "sit" on calls while I apply my dollar-store make-up; thank you. I TAKE my calls, MAKE my sales, AND read the newspaper, bitch! So kiss my hairy, white multi-tasking ass! Ooo, I get so excited.
Sure, I'd rather be on the radio; but I also enjoy the "personal attention" that I can give to people now. In the old days, if you didn't like me, then you could just change the station. But now...ring...ring...if you answer your home phone, then your ass is mine. You idiots (now they're idiots, too?) had better pray that I'm the guy who calls you; because at least I'm pretty damn entertaining about it. My other favorite response is "I want to speak to your supervisor right now!" I just giggle for a few seconds, and if they don't hang up I say "Well, he's in the back, with the owner, snortin' up an 8 ball. But if you want me to go interrupt him..." Recently, I got CAUGHT saying this, BY my supervisor. He came over to me and said "Mr. Davis, let's keep MY personal life out of YOUR non-sale close, allright?" Fire me? Oh, I think not. In fact, with my new great attitude--and since I'm the only sober person there anyway--I'll probably get a raise. Do me a favor, okay? I already know that I'm a smart guy, and that this is an eye-opening essay, and that you want to share it; but don't. Don't tell anybody about this, and don't turn it into one of those crappy e-mail forwards; let's just keep it as our little secret. Hey, is that your phone ringing? Bye.