It finally happened. It's taken years of concerted effort on my part, but even so, I never actually thought it would happen. You hear stories, but still, you think, "Nah. Urban myth." But a few weeks ago, my fondest dream came true: I called a telemarketer and bugged the crap out of them !!!
It all began one sunny afternoon when the phone rang and a local number came up on the caller ID. Now, I am on the Do Not Call List, Do Not Mail List, Do Not Text, Tweet, Facebook, Friend, Snail Mail, Look At, Breathe Near, or even Think About Lists, so when I saw the local area code, I assumed whoever was calling was doing it for a reason other than to tick me off.
Wrong. The wily little devils have figured out that when people see an 800 number, they insert their earplugs and ready the police whistle, foghorn, or cannon before picking up the phone. So, in order to ensure they can still bug the ever living crap out of you, they have recently begun to use local area codes or list themselves as "private caller". And this is why I support bringing back the Rack, Iron Maiden and a one-armed executioner with a dull axe, eye patch, and severe arthritis.
Picking up the phone, I heard, "Hi, I'm an annoying telemarketer from Company XYZ, but I am pretending I am from the company you bought the car from by giving you the misleading name of our sham organization, and did you know the warranty on your 10-year old car has expired, but out of the goodness of our hearts, and largeness of your wallet, we would like to offer you an extended warranty that will cover absolutely nothing except maybe if you break the cigarette lighter in which case, we will send you one nicotine patch."
Unfortunately for Artie Annoying on the other end of the line, I was having a Dirty Harry Day, perhaps because this company had also called the week before when I explained to them (very nicely, which means I didn't use any, er, many four-letter words or threaten them with disembowelment) that we no longer owned the car and that I didn't feel like being robbed that day in any case.
"Oh really," I cooed. "And who exactly do you work for?" Ha! Got you now!!! I dare you to say the name of the car company. Go ahead and make my day!
"Look. Do you want it or not?" Artie snapped at me.
Stunned that it had taken so very little to push him over the edge, I floundered for a minute before sniping right back, "Hey, nice attitude. You sell a lot of stuff talking to customers like that? And, by the way, YOU called ME!"
"I'm so very sorry, ma'am," he jeered snidely, "if I've offended you. My greatest apologies."
Really unfortunately for Artie, I was also in a vindictive, boil-your-bunny mood that day as well. "I do not accept your apology, I intend to make you rue the day you pulled my number from the Do Not Call List, and YOU SUCK AT YOUR JOB!" Slam.
And then I did it. I called the number back. Hehehehe.
A chipper young woman answered," Hello, Company XYZ. We're here to rip you off. How can I help you?"
"I'd like to speak to your supervisor." Double, double, toil and trouble. Oh, and Bibbidy, Bobbidy, Boo.
"Mrs. Sinclair," another cheerful woman who had obviously consulted the caller ID came on the line. "How can I help you?"
Um, by NEVER CALLING ME AGAIN! But let's start with young Artie and how you may bring me his head on a platter....
Please, no applause.
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