(Here’s to you, Lenny.)
~-~-~-~-~-~

Once upon a time, I was a telemarketer. This was long ago, before we had internet or email, when the only way to irritate large numbers of people was over the phone

Unless you were in politics.

I accepted the unholy job because I’d just moved from Southern California to Southern Florida, and I needed work. I left California in an effort to avoid any unpleasant consequences that might arise from abandoning my car on the southbound shoulder of the Santa Ana Freeway, which was on fire at the time (the car, not the freeway).

I was a bartender at the time, working in Laguna Beach. I’d bought the car, a Volkswagen, from a gay bartender for one hundred bucks (the car, not the bartender). It was a beat-up white midget (not the bartender) that had four doors and a minimal rear cargo area, beneath which the volks at Volkswagen had decided to seat the car’s engine.

And on this day, as I was driving home on the 5 (Santa Ana freeway), the engine caught fire.

I saw it before I smelled it.

Being a responsible resident and frequent traveler on the California freeways, I was accustomed to checking my rearview mirror for southbound cars carting white conservatives to Central and South America, to be slave-traded for mariachi musicians. But what I saw in the mirror that day was not over-medicated soccer moms, but wisps of smoke. So either I’d somehow picked up a hitchhiking pot smoker, or my car was on fire.

I looked over my shoulder and noted little fingers of flame in the cargo carpet, a feature which used car salesmen almost always forget to go over. I pulled off the Five, wiped down the steering wheel, grabbed my little bag of groceries, and started walking.

Fortunately, my thumb spoke Spanish, and I was picked up almost immediately by a carload of kind, chattering Mexicans who, for all I know, several decades later, are still talking. They let me off at my San Clemente exit, I checked the TV for any bad news (EIGHT BURNED IN ATTEMPTED FREEWAY CAR THEFT), and not long after, I was a telemarketer in north Miami.

I hated it. Every day, we would dial numbers from our nation-wide lists of car dealers, tire dealers, and furniture store owners, trying to sell them customized radio ads. It made me so crazy that I actually got engaged, but let’s not pull on that thread.

Among the coworkers that I did not propose to was a legend named Lenny. The guy could talk the snort off a moose. Lenny  could convince Puritans to buy prostitutes. Lenny kept two cigarettes lit at all times, but only because he didn’t have three hands. Lenny also kept a well-visited half-gallon of vodka in the office freezer, but this was South Florida, so nobody in management cared.

Basically, Lenny was the Keith Richards of telemarketing.

And with that, let’s have a little fun with telemarketers, shall we?

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: Is this Mr. or Mrs. Parm?
Me: Yes or no.
Caller: What?
Me: No, which.

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: Is this Barry Parham?
Me: That’s what my underwear says.
Caller: May I call you Barry?
Me: I didn’t ask you to call me at all. So, you’re gonna hang up, or I’ll do it?

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: Hi!. This is Molina calling about your car’s health!
Me: What are you wearing?
Caller: What?
Me: I’m not asking for me. I’m asking for my car.

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
[well-known seconds-long pause while the telemarketing robot determines if you’re actually answering the phone]
Caller: Hello from Nordic Testicle Software!
Me: [seconds-long pause] To verify you are not a robot, please confirm the last four digits of your Social Security number, or recite a tasteful haiku.
Caller: Um, I’ll have to ask.
Me: Just be glad I didn’t ask you to make change for a dollar.

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: May I, um, is this, um…
Me: This is your first week, isn’t it?

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: This is Quennie from Charter, with a special offer for Mr. or Mrs. Parker!
Me: That sounds great! Please tell me all the details!
Caller: Great! Our plan…
Me: This sounds great! Tell me more!
Caller: Sure! Well, our customized plan…
Me: [leaves phone on the counter and drives to the grocery]

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello? Did this thing ring?
Caller: Is this Mr. Parn?
Me: I think so, yes.
Caller: I have good news about your cable bill! Do you have a pen or pencil handy?
Me: Hang on. I’ll have to get nurse to bring me a crayon, because of, y’know, that whole “sharp objects” thing.

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: This is Molindisha calling from ATT&T.
Me: That’s too many T’s.
Caller: I’m sorry?
Me: I don’t judge. Let’s move on. Please describe your latest bundle of channels, MMolindisha.
Caller: That’s too many M’s.
Me: Okay, so now we’re evenn.

=====
[ring]
Me: WHAT?
Caller: Hi! Have you accepted Krishna as your personal savior?
Me: Speak up. I’m watching a YouTube video of two ferrets having sex.
Caller: I can call back later.
Me: No thanks. I’ll look you up at the airport.

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: This call is to let you know some great news about your car insurance! Are you sitting down?
Me: Not any more. But give me your home number and I’ll call you back when you’re trying to have dinner.

=====
[ring]
Me: Talk.
Caller: Have you ever considered whole level term diminished life insurance?
Me: Walk.
[click]

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: May I speak to the head of the household, please.
Me: Well, this is your lucky day. Cause we haven’t seen the feet of the household since last summer.
Caller: Excuse me?
Me: Certainly.

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: [robo-pause] May I speak to James?
Me: You remember when you went to Irritating Cold Caller school, and they told you this is a “numbers game”? This is not one of the numbers.

=====
[ring]
Me: Domino’s Pizza.
Caller: Is this 864.555.1212?
Me: I don’t see where that’s any of your business. Do you want a pizza or not?

=====
[ring]
Me: Hello.
Caller: Barry, this is Lenny, you dopey bastid. How many radio spots do you want?
Me: Seven.