Well, I sure received a lot of comments about last week’s column. In case you missed it, I tried to convey, as gently as I could, my dislike of telemarketers.
It turns out I’m definitely not alone here.
I heard some pretty funny stories that I sure think are worth repeating.
One of the clues that you have a telemarketer is the way they pronounce your last name. If it’s butchered, it usually means somebody’s getting ready to try to sell you something. It’s amazing how many ways they can mispronounce a simple name.
One woman said that when she answers the phone and the other person is trying to sell something, she slips into a think accent and pretends not to speak English.
That still doesn’t stop them. They keep asking questions in English. “Are you the lady of the house?” “Is the lady of the house at home?” “Do you own your home?”
She just keeps responding, “No speaka da English” and “No, nobody home.” They eventually give up.
One friend just hangs up on them without saying a word.
“Hello?” she says.
“Hello. How are you doing today?” the voice responds.
Slam.
One of my favorite stories is about a friend who, when asked to speak with her husband, always responds with “No, he doesn’t live here anymore.” This catches the telemarketer off-guard because he doesn’t know if he’s left her and she’s spittin’ mad, if he’s in jail or something, or if he’s dead. In any case, he knows he’s on shaky ground and usually says “Thank You”, and that’s the end of it.
Well, on this particular day, she had one such phone call. She knew it was a telemarketer because the guy was so far off the pronunciation of their last name, she almost laughed. She answered with her usual, “He doesn’t live here anymore.”
The guy said, “Um. Oh. Okay.” And hung up. He sounded confused.
He called back a little while later. Same pronunciation. Same thing.
He said, “Um, well, this is so-and-so from the hospital where a Mr. so-and-so is having surgery, and he told us to call this number to verify …”
Her husband was having surgery on his shoulder. This guy was for real, and she had told him the husband didn’t live there anymore.
“Oh,” she replied. “Okay, so he does live here. So I lied,” she confiessed.
One lady says, “He’s dead” no matter who they ask to speak to. There’s always a little pause and stumble on the other end, because they have answers to every response except that one. Usually they just say “Thank you” and hang up.
The pushy ones will still ask, “Is this the lady of the house?” To which she answers, “No, she’s dead, too.” That finally stops them.
In case you need to talk to my husband or me anytime soon, keep in mind that the name is Higgins. If you call and pronounce it “Hidgins,” chances are we’ll be dead, too.
