We've all gotten those obnoxious phone calls from men and women asking us to do surveys, or asking us if we're happy with our long distance service - would we like to upgrade to the deluxe package for only double what we're already paying?
Well, I just had a bit of fun with a telemarketer. On a global standard, what I did was like sticking gum underneath your desk so that the next person who sits down gets sticky, gooey stuff on the knees of their pants, but it was still pretty fucking funny to me.
So this 1-866 number pops up. I answer without thinking. There's a man with an East-Indian accent asking me if there's a Mr or Missus Lam-on-tag-nee living available. My reply: No lam-on-tag-nees live in the house, sorry, wrong number.
It pisses me off when these people call our homes and expect us to give them our time (and hopefully our credit card numbers), yet they can't even be bothered to correctly pronounce our names. How stupid is that?
The next telemarketer I get a call from is getting the, I'm sorry, Mr and Mrs Lam-on-tag-nee (because none of them ever pronounce it right) are dead and I'm waiting for their bodies to finish freezing so I can transport them to the dump without arousing suspicion.
Fucking telemarketers.
About Me
- Emily Grace
- Emily Grace Lamontagne is a young woman currently residing in Southern Manitoba. She's passionate about writing, reading, and the arts, and she has an unholy love of tea. She works as a Starbucks Barista and moonlights as a writer.
