Sunday, 12 January 2014

Fun with Cold Callers!

Are you sick of cold callers?  I know we in the Misfit House are - sick and tired of receiving calls from rather Asian-sounding gentlemen (and yes, they always have this accent) called Kevin Smith or Mike Jones!  I mean, really?

Before you all start saying ‘Well they have to make a living!’, I think you’ll find that they are shysters and what they’re doing is just a workaround for something that would be deemed illegal for a UK company -  would you defend them if they were robbing old ladies or sex-trafficking?  No.  I rest my case.

So we decided that instead of them driving us up the wall, we’d have a little bit of fun with them.

The teen deals with all the computer/technical calls - no, our computer is not running slow and we won’t give you remote access, what do you think we are, stupid?  He’s been known to tell them that his grandfather was Hitler, he’d like the caller to buy him an Audi and his postcode is 90210.  One of his favourites is to say in an Irish accident, ‘Did you hear dat Margaret T’atcher doied?’  This is usually the point at which the caller gives up.  We’ve also given him fake slaps and he’s yelped, ‘Mummy hit me!’ before hanging up.

I had great fun with ‘John Evans’ a few weeks ago.  Hubbie answered the phone and it was the usual, ‘We’re calling about the accident you had in your car last month’.  Hubbie said he needed to see someone to the door and would just be a few seconds.  We love to waste their time too.

Five minutes later, John Evans was still hanging on the line - clearly thinking he’d nabbed himself a sucker.

He got me - and this is how our call went.

ME: (in a teary voice) He-llo?

JOHN:  (with the trademark Indian accent) Good day to you, madam.

ME:  (even tearier and building into a bit of a crescendo)  No!  No, it’s not a good day!  How can you say it’s a good day when you’re telling me my husband’s had an accident?  He was with her again, wasn’t he?  Go on!  Tell me - I can take it.  (by this time I am sobbing uncontrollably)

JOHN:  Oh no, Madam.  Do not be upset.  I am here to help you.

ME:  (sniffing a little and then becoming flirty) Oh!  Oh, I like you.  What a nice man!  What colour underwear are you wearing?

JOHN:  (silence) …

ME:  (like a mad woman possessed) TELL ME!  What colour underwear?

JOHN - (with a nervous giggle) Are you meaning ‘underpants’?

ME:  (with a growl) YES!  You know damn well what I mean!

JOHN: (a cough and another giggle) Black.  I am wearing black, Madam.

ME: (screeching) BLACK?!  I HATE BLACK!  I want you to be wearing pink!  Do you love me?

JOHN:  (and yes, all this really did happen!) Oh, yes Madam!  I am loving you very much!

ME:  No you don’t, you men are all the same.  You’ve really upset me now.  It’s over - please don’t call me again.

JOHN: (silence and a nervy gulp)

ME:  (I hang up)

‘John Evans’ has never called back.

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