Fun with Telemarketers

Jesus loves you. I, on the other hand...

I work at a church. Don’t laugh. Okay, laugh. But thus far, god hasn’t smote his ruin upon the unfortunate house of worship for hiring me.

Being a place of worship doesn’t exclude it from getting calls from telemarketers and scammers (the line between the two being [Elrond voice on] “thin.” [Elrond voice off]).

It’s a pity I don’t think quickly on my feet, because imagine the fun I might have. For example, take the call I got last week.

Phone rings, I pick up, say “Good morning,” and clearly identify that this is church.  There’s a pause–the telltale sign that this is some kind of telemarketer–and a man shoots a rapid-fire stream of words at me: “Hi, this is Bob Smith. Can I speak with the company owner, the head honcho, the person that makes all the big decisions?”

I pause, taken by the immediate image of an arrogant asshat. He’s twitching with nervous energy and a ten-cup-a-day coffee habit. He’s balding or he’s got a buzz cut. He most certainly is reeking of cologne (it’s a salesman thing). If this were a role playing game, his chief attribute would be +50 Annoying. I hate him instantly.

“They’re not in,” I say in my best robotic monotone, which is code for, “Find something sharp, sit on it and spin until the pointy side erupts from the top of your head.” He asks if there’s a time to reach them, and I mutter something like, “No, they come and go.” Also code for “Find something sharp….” He gives up and rings off.

Now, what I should have said was:
“The ‘head honcho?’ Sure. You can talk to him any time. Just put you hands together and pray.”