I�ve finally gotten cable, and have thus used it primarily for Buffy reruns. FX shows back to back episodes at 6 and 7, followed by a new Buffy if it's a Tuesday. I�ve got a Buffy doubleheader every night, and a triplecast on Tuesdays. Buffy is now 1/8 of my life and 1/6 of my waking life (neither of those counts all the online time at work at Buffy sites).
I don't like phone calls when I'm watching Buffy. I don't like a leaf crinkling three blocks away when I'm watching Buffy. But when the phone does ring, I diligently turn the volume down and pick up the phone. On the off chance this is a real person calling, I don't want to give the impression I like TV more than real people, although that was certainly the case Tuesday. I usually have a decent Spider-sense if it's telemarketing (any call between 6 and 9 when I�m not expecting a call usually turns out to be them). I turned the volume down, even with this gut feeling.
The first call was the worst, since it was from a charity, Feed the Children. I'd like to feed the children of the world. That's why I signed up to sponsor a kid with Feed the Children, and also with Children International. But Feed the Children sends me mail literally every other week asking me to donate more and more and more. A thousand letters don�t cost much to send out, and it only takes a few responses to make it profitable. Especially when a single response could bring in untold thousands from some philanthropist. So they�re done perpetually, at the slight costs of making every contributor feel like a rotten human being for not being that philanthropist every other week.
And now I've got to tell a real human being that I'm a rotten human being as well. Well, not a REAL human being, just a telemarketer. But for the guilt involved, it might as well be a real human. I gave the form letter response, "Thanks, but I'm not interested," and moved the phone halfway between my ear and the receiver to see if the telemarketer would hang up. It held my interest for the wee amount to realize every second of that was a second of missed Buffy dialogue, so the phone quickly went down.
The second call was from the New York Times, ten minutes later. A quick "Thanks, but I'm not interested," and a guilt-free hang up. At least I wasn't condemning little kids to die with that hang-up, just the greatest paper in the world to go out of business.
The third was just white noise. I get these about once a week, and I have no idea what it is. If it's a practical joke, the guy has infinite patience and absolutely no creativity. In all fairness, this might not have been telemarketing, just some other computer-dialing system that backfired at me. Whoever's doing it is making it hell to sit through to my answering machine messages.
The fourth asked for Mr. or Mrs. Ryan, covering all bases in case I'm a woman. By this point I was wondering if my horoscope mentioned anything about the planets aligning, but not in a good way. I think I actually giggled at this one, blanked on the set response, said an impromptu, "You know, uh, I don't want any," and hung up. This call was cutting into the new Buffy episode. As bad as interrupting the reruns are, I know how the reruns turn out.
The fifth caller got about five words out before I said "Nope!" and gleefully hung up. At this point, I was just clearing the line for the sixth through twelfth telemarketers, who would probably interrupt my 24 viewing. But the gods were merciful, and struck dead all those dialers before they could punch in my number.
All telemarketers should die, I thought. Horrible, vicious deaths, involving piranha if they're available. Then I realized, with a rude shock, that I come from a family of telemarketers.
I used to work for the circulation department of a magazine that had a telemarketing campaign for renewals. My brother used to call for newspaper renewals. And my other brother currently calls for alumni donations at his college. I consider myself the worst offender of the lot, because I was giving the orders and not getting my earpiece dirty. (In my defense, I had no official power to stop it, I was just a helper monkey. Plus the calls were mainly going to businesses, not homes).
I'm forced now to see the horrible plague of telemarketing from the telemarketer's point of view. They're on commission, face hours straight of hang-ups and curse outs every day, and know full well that their job irritates the living snot out of everyone they come in contact with.
I always give the telemarketers an out. Say the rehearsed line, wait for them to say goodbye, say bye back to them, and hang up politely. Not much time taken out of their or my day, and they're gone. Until they call again.
Of course, not every telemarketer takes no for an answer. Some of them (my other brother included) are forced to not hang up until they're received three or five nos. Every person who hasn't slammed the phone down in disgust is still a potential sale, even if they're screaming "No! I have eight credit cards, why would I want a ninth, you pus-licking jackal!" My brother recommends the immediate hang-up instead of being polite, since they know full well you�re not a sale, but can't hang up without putting their jobs at jeopardy.
There's an easy way out of telemarketing. When someone calls, just ask to be put on their Do Not Call list. They're now legally obligated to do so. It gives them a number that definitely won't generate sales, so it's in their interest to follow through on this. This works for junk mail also, if you write the sender a letter or email them. I should do this, but it has the same feeling to me of holding up the supermarket line because your 53 cent can of peas got scanned at 56 cents. I have the right to do it, but it's a hassle.
Most telemarketers don't care too much about what they�re doing, and I can tell because they're the ones who always mispronounce my name. Sean. They always say it Sen. It�s not that weird a name. No one ever says their favorite Bond was Sen Connery. Once, someone made the impressive blunder of mispronouncing both my first and last names. "Uh, Sen Rain?" Sean I can almost understand, because it's not spelled phonetically. But Ryan? It's as common a name as you can get. Hell, it was in a Spielberg movie!
There're a select few people who hate the human race, and decide to bleed us dry through any means necessary. They gravitate to electronic stores, used car lots, and telemarketing. They make their money from gullible old ladies, and rejoice whenever they get to call a Gertrude or an Agnes. Us non-Gertrudes simply get the brunt of their anger.
They use hooks when they call, damn them. "Hello Mr. Ryan, I�m calling on behalf of the Police Athletic League. Don�t worry, I�m not asking for donations."
A telemarketer who wasn�t looking for money. This intrigued me. I knew I was stomping out the flaming bag on my doorstep, but I said "OK."
"Do you know what the Police Athletic League does?"
I did not. Did that still exist? it was up there with the 4H Club and the Elks for nebulous social organizations. I said I didn�t, and he went on for twenty seconds about that they help kids without going into any specifics. Hey, maybe they were looking for volunteers. If this guy wasn�t looking for money, maybe he was drumming up public support. That'd be a novel use for telemarketing, and I wouldn't be adverse to helping some kids. Hell, I sponsor two of them.
"We're selling low cost magazines to benefit them. The more you order, the more you help them. Now which magazines can I put you down for, sir?"
Ooh, evil bait and switch. He said he wasn't asking for donations, but that technically didn't include selling crap for money. Additionally, he was pulling the cocky assumption that I'd of course purchase a bundle from him, I just hadn't picked which ones. I gave my standard no thank you line to him.
"You want to help these kids, right? Now how many can I put you down for, sir?" He was decidedly pissed now.
"I'm not interested," I said, dropping the Thank You this time. Yeah, mess with me and you get burned. He was still talking (I might have to add a sarcastic "buddy" this time), but I just ended it and hung up. It was one of the few times I wished I had a video phone so I could see him grimace at another lost sale. With me letting him give his Athletic League spiel, I probably cost him a half dozen hang-ups, and quite possibly a real sale. Aw damn, I feel bad for that belligerent hemorrhoid.
The irony is that I was really considering a magazine. If something came in the mail for this, I might have signed up for a couple. But telemarketing was not the way to go, because I didn't have a list of magazines to look at. Plus, the guy calling was as pleasant as a toxic waste spill. I wouldn't buy a rabies vaccine from that guy if I had a foaming raccoon on my leg.
Telemarketing is done because it's profitable, not effective. Most every call a telemarketer makes will bottom out. But the only costs are a bulk-rate phone call and a schlub limboing below the poverty level, so not many responses are needed to turn a profit. If steps are taken to make it unprofitable, say by tying up an operator for much longer than a standard hang-up, it would be a show of economic resistance. Arguably, it's the moral thing to do.
Tell them you're getting your credit card, and then do nothing for five minutes. Tell them you need to duck into the bathroom, and then do nothing for ten minutes. Tell them you�ve got to check with your wife if you want a new phone service, and then do nothing for twenty minutes. Be creative: pretend to have a heart attack right before you give that sixteenth credit card number. Or say you'll take everything they'll selling, but only if they take Diner's Club. Tell them long stories, or knock knock jokes.
Personally, I haven't done any of this. I'd like to show my disapproval as much as anyone, but I know there's a struggling actor/college student/prison inmate on the other line that's just as unhappy as I am about this call. Any extended creativity will just hurt their take home pay. To fight the war, the schlubs need to be sacrificed bloodily, and I'm not quite willing to do so. So I'm nice and quick, and I make it easier for telemarketing to thrive. Like I said, I'm a rotten human being.
Of course, if anyone calls during Buffy again, I'll show up at their doorstep and ask if they want a free crate of angry wolverines. And I won't leave until I get a hundreds nos.