“Hello, Caller Number Fifty…?”

Dearest Rachel –

It generally begins just as I’m about to leave the house these days, sometimes while I’m eating breakfast (which alarms me more because the phone is liable to wake Daniel), sometimes while I’m showering, sometimes while I’m getting dressed. But since it’s the only way to get rid of the interruption without creating an angry red dot on my phone app, I will nearly always answer the call.

“Thank you for waiting until nine to begin the barrage. You’re on, caller; go ahead.”

There is an uncomfortable pause, followed by a boop-boop-boop on the other end of the line. Whoever is was has just hung up on me – again.

Just another waste of both our time.

***

I’ve apparently been able to amuse both my parents and Lars with my antics, while Daniel is mildly frustrated by them: “Why do you bother answering your phone when it’s them, Dad?” And while I’m sorry you never had the opportunity to see me working the room to the extent I am these days, I think you might land more on the grown-ups’ side of this debate.

After all, when you stayed at home, I would presume you had to deal with your share of spam calls, too. I wish I could ask you about them, and how you dealt with them at the time.

I know we used to watch a few YouTubers who would try to keep the spammer on the line for as long as possible, since the more time they were tied up dealing with the YouTuber’s antics the more content would be generated, and the less time the spammer would have to bother (and possibly defraud) someone else. Not only did it improve the content creators’ bottom line by increasing our watch time of their material, they were accomplishing a near-sacred duty of running interference against these unsavory individuals.

I can’t say that my efforts are either as noble or pecuniarily rewarding as all that. Still, the fact that they often get a (positive) reaction from those in my general vicinity suggests that I’m handing this reasonably well, given the circumstances.

***

I’ve noticed that they really seem to resent the invitation to “make your pitch,” as they almost invariably hang up right after I deliver that particular exhortation. I’ve come to the conclusion (and I’m open to contrary opinions and proof otherwise, if anyone were to have any, but I think this is a compelling argument) that the word ‘pitch’ sounds like a certain derogatory insult that the artificial intelligence is (after long experience, I shouldn’t wonder) trained to recognize as hostile and hang up on.

Of course, that theory assumes that there’s an artificial intelligence on the other end; quite often, there doesn’t seem to be any intelligence involved at all with these call. Sometimes, however, there are those that respond to me with a measure of good humor, such as this fellow who called me during breakfast recently:

“Hello, caller number three, you’re on.” I do find myself losing track once the numbers get up into the teens (although they tend to be frequent enough in succession that I can at least remember the last number I applied, but if I inadvertently skip one at any point, I’m off for the rest of the day. Not that it matters), but at this early point in the day, I’ve dealt with few enough (and recently enough) that I can be fairly certain I’m numbering them correctly. Then again, if I can’t count at least to three in my profession, that’d be a real problem for me.

“Oh,” came the mock-disappointed tone, “I wanted to be the tenth caller.”

“Well, you just called a little early, that’s all.”

“Well, I’ll just have to call you up another six or seven times.” At which point, he hung up – for now. I haven’t heard back from him since, but these accents all sound pretty much the same to me after a while, it’s possible I’ve heard back from him since. Remote, but not completely impossible.

Then again, I’ve got a long way to go before I’ve heard from every telemarketer in existence; there’s over a billion people in India, after all…

***

The barrage of calls is useful, however, on certain rare occasions; the other morning, I had misplaced my phone, and didn’t know where I’d set it down. However, it wasn’t long before some spammer set it to ringing, whereupon I was able to find it, and promptly thanked them for helping me locate it. For whatever reason, they didn’t appreciate the thanks, because they immediately hung up on me upon my answering their call.

And while I really don’t like it when I answer the phone only to deal with silence or an immediate hangup (I mean, come on; you called me), I’m not sure that’s what I hate the most about these calls. I think the worst of these types of calls are the ones that, when I answer, greet me with a robotic voice, saying, “you are the only caller in this conference.” Again, if you aren’t going to grant me the infinitesimal courtesy of being on the line when I pick up the phone, why should I grant you what you refuse to offer me?

Moreover, with that approach, why should I be such a fool as to purchase anything from you, considering how you treat me?

***

There’s also the fact that what they have to offer me is so boilerplate as to be predictable. “Let me guess,” I’ll tell them, before they have the chance to go into their schpiel, “does this have to do with Medicare supplementation, or final expense insurance?”

At this point, I’ve gotten to where I have a basic script of my own, in order to counter theirs. If they’re calling about additional Medicare benefits, I point out that, being only fifty-five, I’m not even eligible for basic Medicare, let alone any supplementary benefits. Some of them proceed to ask me about any other pre-existing conditions, such as having diabetes, being a veteran or being on Medicaid, but after a series of honest ‘no’s from me, eventually end up giving up and hanging up. Sometimes, I even get a “god bless you, sir,” for reasons I can’t explain; maybe I’m the first person who’s been civil with them in a while, despite realizing that I’m not going to be a sucker for whatever it is they’re pitching.

If they’re offering final expense insurance, I simply recite their script back at them, either before they can (ideally) or in chorus with them as they’re giving it to me, usually as fast as possible, and with limited pauses for breath about how “itcoversfuneral, burial, andcremationexpenses, andalsoleavesalittleforyourlovedones right?” If they don’t get the point that I’ve heard the pitch enough times to memorize it myself, I go into the fact that I had to pay for yours recently (and thank you so much for reminding me of that fact, I will sometimes add if I’m in a certain mood), so I know what these things cost (although technically, I don’t really know about the funeral, but given that I’ve incurred other related expenses, such as a meal for the church staff in thanks for that benefit, and the diamond ring made of your ashes, I think I’ve spent more than the equivalent), and have more than enough tucked away for Daniel to handle things.

It takes a while to get these people to give up sometimes, but they all do, eventually. Some of them don’t take it well. I’ve had one in particular that requested me to perform a certain act on him that, let’s face it, couldn’t be accomplished over the phone. Another asked for my firstborn daughter; given that I’ve neither a partner to create one with nor the wherewithal to do so if I did, the fellow will be left hanging for a long time to come. They’re annoyances, to be sure, but some are so over-the-top as to almost be amusing.

***

But I’ll admit, the incessant grind of having to deal with these fairly constantly is starting to wear me down. And maybe that’s the point; after dealing with thirty calls a day, there’s this faint hope that, if I agree to whatever it is they’re selling me, they’ll stop and leave me alone.

But I know that won’t happen; indeed, much the opposite, as the sharks are just likely to smell blood in the water. I wonder if I won’t have to say “no” to the entire population of India before I stop getting called – and we both know that I’ll never live long enough to convince every last one of a billion people that I’m not interested in what they’re selling.

Until recently, I’d been averaging somewhere between twenty and thirty calls a day, with only a handful on Saturday and none on Sunday – even in a country without a Judeo-Christian heritage, they respect the concept of the weekend. But this week has been more than I can deal with, in terms of the number of calls; forty-five on Monday, and fifty-six yesterday. It’s stopped being funny, and I don’t have the wit to deal with so many calls. I’ve finally decided to resort to silencing my phone, and just ignoring everything. It’s where we’ve been for years with our land line, and now my cell phone is going to get the same treatment. It’s a shame to have to do so, but this is where I am. It was fun while it lasted, I guess, but there is a limit to everything.

Anyway, that’s the extent of things today, honey; keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.