More telemarketer woes

I got called by another one of these people today. It was actually a person from this company my mom has signed up with. I routinely ask her WHY she’d purposefully expose herself to telemarketers, but she has a sound reason why: They never want to actually talk to her. They want to talk to me.

More specifically, someone 18 or older in the house. Since my dad is never home and I haven’t seen him face-to-face in probably 8 months, I’m the lucky person that gets to talk to these people. While the actual conversation wasn’t so bad, it started out rocky at the beginning.

LADY: May I speak to someone 18 or older in the house?
ME: I suppose that would be me.
LADY: So you’re 18 or older?
ME: Yes.
LADY: When were you born?
ME: 1988.
LADY: And you’re how old?
ME: 18.
LADY: Born in 1988.
ME: Yes.
LADY: So I am speaking to someone 18 or older now?
ME: I’m beginning to regret that you are.

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One Response

  1. Ohoooo Poor Kev!
    Being an adult is so much fun. Izn’t it now?

    You get to deal with dimwits reading directly from their little script who are so terrorfied of their supervisor listening in on them that they dare not diviate from what is written.

    (Note: I Am perfectly awair that dyslexic errors are inevitable at this hour*it’s 6 am here and I ‘m running on no sleep again* but please do forgive me for this anyway)

    Those scripts kill me. It’s like they assume they are speaking to a retard and must conferm every thing in triplicate before moving on.

    Right, as if being called as you were trying to head in to the “little room” to evacuate your inestine wasn’t annoying enough. NOw you have to deal with being interigated about your age!

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