“Thank you for your generous contribution to the Oregon Republican Party,” the caller, usually a man, will gush. “How are you this evening?” When I hear that opening, I know I am not the droid he is looking for. I know this because I am not a member of the Oregon Republican Party. Also, I know he is probably calling from Atlanta, the call center capital of the western world, because it is inevitably 4:02 p.m. Pacific time, not quite evening yet, here on the west coast.“Oh, I'm sorry, I think you want the person with the same name as me who lives on the West side of town,” I say apologetically. The rich, white, conservative contributor-to-the-opposition-party person whose name comes up when I Google my own.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” the polite man with the southern accent will say contritely as I am hanging up my phone.
Those are the telemarketing calls I like, the ones that are obvious cases of mistaken identity. Or the ones that go something like, “Are you looking for new siding?” That one is easy to terminate, too. “No, sorry, I'm a renter,” I say blithely. Bam! Ten seconds, tops. My all-time favorite calls are marketing researchers, of course. What do you mean, will I take a 30-minute survey on Minute Rice? Of course I will! Oh, you mean you want me to actually be a user of the product? Oh, sorry. (Thank and terminate. Click. Buzzz.) Darn it. No, I don't smoke. No, I don't watch cable television. No, I don't use mayonnaise. Argh! No one wants someone who spends all her time writing a stupid dissertation!
Sometimes I get lucky. Sometimes not. Today the phone rang at 4:02 p.m. I picked it up and responded with my usual wary drawl. “HELLLoh.” When I didn't hear my mother's smoker's tenor: “Hello, Daughter,” I knew it was a telemarketer.
After some clicks and some brief pockets of dead air, a woman finally said, “This is bla bla calling from Life bla bla bla bla. How are you this evening?”
Because this was the only human contact I've had all day, I felt an urge to connect. “I'm doing great, thanks for asking! How are you doing?”
There was a long moment of silence as she processed the maniacal tone of my voice. “I'm fine, thanks for asking.” I suspected she thought I thought I recognized her voice. My Aunt Sally, maybe. I could practically hear her brain chugging away: Will this nutty prospect freak out when she realizes I'm not her Aunt Sally?
“What can I do for you this evening?” I said eagerly, anxious to hear the marketing message. I am a student of marketing, after all.
She launched gamely into her spiel. “Have you heard of Life Alert Systems?”
“Life what?” I said with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Life Alert Systems is a medical alert system specifically designed to help seniors remain independent—”
“Hey wait a minute!” I interrupted. “How old do you think I am?” I admit my voice had just a hint of belligerence. And a touch of wounded vanity. And a teensy weensy bit of righteous indignation.
“Uh... This is for seniors 65 and older?”
“Sorry, that is not me!” I declared decisively. I didn't tell her my age, of course. Telemarketers are like squirrels: You shouldn't feed them if you want them to go away.
“Do you have anyone in the household over the age of—”
“Nope, sorry, there's just me.”
“Well, okay.... good-bye.”
Wait a minute. What? She gave up? She didn't even try! Well, admittedly I was working up a frothy case of buyer's resistance, she could probably hear it in my voice. But isn't that what she's been trained to overcome? If she was a really good salesperson, she would have done her best to sell me, despite my objections, even if it seems at first that I'm not in the target market. Everyone my age has an aging parent. She never asked. I actually think my mother should have something like Life Alert (“Help I've fallen and I can't get up!”) She could have asked me a few well-placed questions, I would have answered, I would have let her ramble on a long time before I eventually let her go. No matter how much I wanted to connect with her, though, I wouldn't have committed to a purchase over the phone. I never do, because to me that is debting. But that doesn't mean I didn't want to talk! Hey come on, where are you calling from? What's the weather in Atlanta? Don't go!
