Welcome to Tel(emarketing)!

As one who has survived the demonized occupation of telemarketing, I come offering a new view, one that begs your open ears, your open mind, and above all, your open heart. My friends, we are not motherless.\nI should start at the beginning with the first fickle signs of Fate. The one's that licked my heels from the fiery depths of Sheol, the one's that left me burned-out, beat-up and ready to introduce YOU to the substantial savings that AP&P (a lawsuit filed for slander need not be the way my summer ends...use your imagination...) could offer your company! Perhaps I should start with my intoxicated ass sitting behind the wheel of my parked Chevy S-10, when, what to my wandering eyes should appear? Some methed-up skank and eight tiny reindeer … OK, so there might have been a little more than just alcohol involved with my condition.\nWith a tube-top resembling the pizza-grease stained sleeve of a t-shirt slid over a 200-plus pound bag of cookie-dough, pants that became capris because they could not fit past her knees, this walking contradiction waltzes up to my window in a style that suggests the jitterbug crossed with electroshock therapy and goes semi-automatic on my eardrums.\n"IgottascorezipGimmealiftWecancartwheelallnightatmyplaceGimmealiftIgottascorezipGimmealift" (To be read as: "I need crank. If you give me a ride, we can get spun together.")\n"Shure … ummm … juz s'op righ' 'n … 'ere you nee' … umm … ta' go …?" (To be read as: "I am out of my mind and have no idea what I am doing.")\nThat's right, folks, like the Caped Crusader and his Boy Wonder, like Fred Astaire and Ginger Roberts, we were the Amazing Linguistic Duo! Wherever words trembled in fear of uppity enunciation, of presuming pronunciation, we were there to mangle, slur and shatter the English language! The sales pitch had no idea what was coming its way!\nSomewhere around two hours later, waking in an alley with a busted nose and a bulging eye, I discovered my wallet was gone and vaguely remembered parking my truck so the Speed Queen could check on another connection. Then there were two large black men, saying something like "Sweet dreams, Nazi boy," (shaved head, wears a chain, spiky accessories … definitely a Nazi) and waking up in the alley, busted up and broke. I had no idea where Little Miss Crank had gone and could care less how she got home. I found my truck, thank God, only minus my entire CD collection, my cell phone and a damn cool pair of shades.\nWhen I woke in the morning, my account had already been overdrawn to the tune of nearly $400, with most transactions being carried out at CVS and Walgreen's, and I would be willing to bet a majority of the purchases involved over-the-counter pharmaceuticals. It was near the middle of July. I had had two promised, high-paying jobs fall through for me ("Oh, I'm sorry. We thought you were coming for full-time employment!"). I was going to be evicted from my crack rock living quarters for failure to pay rent. I had no money to get back to school. Frank Capra would have dislocated his left nut, my life was so freaking wonderful.\nFinally, a friend mentioned there was this one last job I could try where he was certain I would get hired. Most people lasted under two-weeks, so they were always hiring. At this point, it could have been Happy Time Crafts in the Alzheimers ward; if they were paying me, I was going to be doing it. The Cold, Hard Truth about Telemarketers #1: Most of us are coming from this sort of desperate position. And it is here that my troubles first began.\nI worked for Arlis Communications, a reseller of AP&P services. You have no comprehension for the depths of love people have for AP&P. I nearly lost my soul, my sanity, my dignity in the name of long distance. There was something rotten in the state of Arlis, watching a young woman who could no longer fight the tears, desperately scramble for escape, forgetting the headset that encased her face, forgetting the rancid umbilical cord that would snap her head (back and to the left) and leave her in a sobbing heap beside the warm green glow of her abusive motherboard. Welcome to the world of Telemarketing.\nGiven a headset and a cubicle, we sat in front of a computer, waited for the screen to pop and went into our pitch. Telemarketing Truth #2: We have no control over who we call! When the screen popped, the person was already saying "Hello?" and we were just then learning who we were calling, where we were calling and what we could do for them. The majority of times, however, it never mattered whether the screen popped or not. You will find the phrase "I'm calling with AP&P…" often to be met with such heart-felt phrases as: "You are especially adept at the art of fellatio," "May your mother rot in hell" and "May rats mistake your firstborn child for cheese."\nI have heard words used that I never knew the human mouth could form, let alone pronounce.\nTelemarketers become the Kings of Karma. Do you actually think that if you throw a fit like a pre-pubescent child with a dirty mouth we're going to put you on the sacred Do Not Call List? Creativity's abound among the marketers, after spending eight hours a day listening to people reconfirm every possible self-destructive image you've ever had of yourself. Calls begin to go something like this:\n"Hi, my name is Isaac Edwards. I'd like to speak to the person who handles your balls."\nIn the end, it comes down to a question of human decency, something that very rarely is given to the telemarketer. None of us had chosen to be doing what we were doing. We didn't choose to call you in the middle of your executive meeting. We didn't choose to call you right before you sat down for dinner with your family. We didn't choose to call you in the middle of a boink session with your secretary (actual experience, happened to me … why'd you even pick up the phone, man?). Most of us were college-age kids who had been given over to telemarketing because it was our last option. Trust us, we wouldn't be calling you unless it was absolutely necessary. Be kind to your telemarketer. You don't have to hear us out. Just hang up. It makes both of our lives easier. It's only our job we're doing, nothing else. For those who are especially cruel to the calling telemarketer, be forewarned: the Tenth Circle of Hell shall be reserved for you, where you shall be frozen in ice up to the neck, heads bent back, ears forever filling with the endless chants of the AP&P sales pitch…