Telemarketers: Part One

What’s worse than a chatty seatmate when you're taking the red-eye?  Discovering that telemarketers have somehow acquired your cell phone number.  They call.  Constantly.  Making so many different offers that you can’t even keep them straight.  I’m starting to feel like Tiger Woods.  (Rimshot! Anyone?)  Anyway, I’m not really sure how I became such a hot item for these companies.  What about “nonprofit worker” and “public school teacher” screams high-roller?  Maybe the economy is just so bad that the $237.42 in my checking account makes me a modern-day Diddy. Who’s to say?  All I know is that I am longing to reclaim my anonymity.

Well... I was.  That was before today.  You see, this morning I realized something: as miserable as I feel on the receiving end of their calls, they must feel even more miserable making them.  I mean, imagine sitting in a cubicle for 8 hours a day calling strangers who will, more often than not, cut you off, hang you up, or curse you out.  It must be so… boring.  So predictable.

But not anymore.  Not on my watch.  There’s a new sheriff in town, ladies and gentlemen, and while she won’t be giving you the commission you so desperately crave, she will be giving you the next best thing: a story.  A story so ridiculously crazy that it will earn you your five minutes of fame at happy hour (because if anybody needs a stiff drink at the end of the day, it's telemarketers) and temporarily remove you from the eye-gouging misery that is your bland and purposeless life.

You. Are. Welcome.

Updates to come…