Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Where It All Began ~ Part I

I’ll be just a few minutes,” Daddy promised, letting the van door click behind him. It was my birthday, we had gone out to breakfast just the three of us. Mommy, Daddy & Me. It had been a pretty awesome day so far, and in spite of the chilly winds the weather was even hitting on the pretty side.

My phone vibrated from the seat beside me, the number was UNAVAILABLE. Lucky for them, I was losing interest in Facebook and my emails faster than a 5 year old walking around the store with his mother. I hit the green button, poker face on. “Hello?”

Yes, hello?” The voice on the other end belonged to a man with a thick Iranian accent. “Ah, yes Ma’am! My name is Amihad, and I  am calling with a short survey for you today. How are you doing?” I was doing fine, thanks.

First of all, I will explain to you, Ma‘am, that you do not have to pay for anything today. The web address you submitted to my company: [ ....@ webmail.com]  can you confirm that for me, Ma‘am?

I looked over the expanse of green fields outside my window. “No sir, I never submitted any information. May I ask how you came to obtain this information?”

Under his breath I heard him say, she wants to know how? And to me he chuckled into the phone, “Ma’am, are you saying that is not your correct web address?”

“I don’t give my address to strangers, but thanks for asking.”

“Ok, um … that is perfectly alright. We will come back to that later, but secondly Ma’am, have you completed your high school education?”
Like a three dollar bill, we’d come back to my email address later. This guy rolled with a lot of confidence. “Yes.”

And do you mind if I ask in what year you completed this education?”

Oh, well it was quite awhile ago actually.”

Okay, okay. That is great, now if you will answer a few questions for me, we will send you some information about some online classes you might find helpful. Now, what are your interests, Ma’am? We offer message therapy | medical research | history | something for everyone.”

I struggled to pull apart words and sentences he was running together in his quick Arabic tongue. Was he trying to lose me, or just confuse me so he could get the information he wanted and be gone? “I’m sorry, I’m not interested.”

No, you are not listening to me.” He sounded agitated, “You pay nothing today! It is free, Ma’am. I just need you to answer my questions, that is all.”

I’m not interested, but thank you. I’m already in school.”

Quietly, “ah! She’s already in school, she does not tell me this.” But to me, he says “Ma’am. I am sorry, I cannot take this anymore. I will please transfer you to my manager. I will transfer you to the manager, okay? Please, a moment?”

Ask me if I was silently cracking up, thinking how this was new. This aggravating a telemarketer for the first time in my life. How all the wrong answers had thrown him off course so much, how he couldn’t even give me his pitch. How he hadn’t bothered hiding his obvious frustration. He must’ve been new.

Oh, yes. Of course, I’d love to talk to your manager!” I answered, brightly. Much too brightly, enjoying this far too much. A few seconds later, another man’s voice sounded across the line and I smiled.

      { to be continued, because no conversation with an Arabic Telemarket could ever be so very short}

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