How to deal with telemarketers
Clyde and Agnes, a ranch couple in their older years, were enjoying another cup of morning coffee before getting on with the day’s chores. The phone rang. Clyde got up to answer it — the landline phone mounted on the kitchen wall.
Clyde: “Hello!” he bellowed. He listened a few moments, then roared “stick it where the sun don’t shine!” And slammed the receiver down. “Danged telemarketers,” he growled. “Can’t even eat a meal in peace anymore. Ain’t there no way to stop the varmints from botherin’ decent folks?”
Agnes: “Probably not,” she sighed. “But I’ve developed a method.”
Clyde: “What method? You got a way to make ‘em shut up? Stop callin’? Quit sending endless junk mail to our computer?”
Agnes: “Not exactly. But I’m answering every contact from a telemarketer or email seller with a response.”
Clyde: “Response? What’s that mean?” He poured himself another cup of coffee. “Agnes, what are you up to?”
Agnes: “I simply encourage them to continue their unacceptable stupid behavior.”
Agnes: “Today, there are a bunch of messages from email marketers and only one from someone I really know. There was one from a chain store, one from a magazine, one from a car dealer, one from a guitar seller, one from a restaurant, one from Facebook, one from …”
Clyde: “Okay, but what did you do?”
Agnes: “Well, see, I write them back.”
Clyde: (growing impatient) “You write them back!??”
Agnes: “That’s right. For instance, to the car dealer, I wrote — and I use their real names in my responses — Dear Idiot Car Dealer, thank you so much for sending me your information about vehicles I shall never consider purchasing. Please continue to do so as I’m lonesome unless I hear from you. Plus, I want to include your communique in my “Book of Dumb as Doorknobs Promotions.”
To the chain store I wrote — Dear Idiot Doofus Chain Store, I can’t tell you how much I enjoy your daily message of cheer. So, I won’t. But please continue sending your inspirational missives as I’m including them in my “Book of Stupid Stuff I’ll Never Buy.”
To the restaurant — which, by the way, is in another country — I wrote: Dear Idiot Food Seller, thank you so much for your yummy descriptions of food I will not eat anywhere, especially in your Idiot Restaurant. However, do continue sending updates on your cuisine as I’m including them in my book of “Idiot Places to Ruin Your Appetite.”
To the magazine, I penned a nice response that — as far as I could tell — contained no typos. Dear Idiot Magazine of Idiot Information, thank you so much for thinking of me. I truly appreciate your caring. I’m saving most of your communiqués to include in my “Book of the Worst Possible Publications Imaginable.” I used to save them for outhouse use, but we recently went modern.
To Facebook — here Agnes paused, sighed deeply and bravely continued. “I wrote Dear Idiot Facebook. How I look forward to your constant harrassment. The excitement is almost too much to bear, but please continue to forward your wisdom as without it, I’ve no guidelines.
Also, I’m including them in my book, “The Idiot Guide to Idiocy Via Facebook.”
Clyde: “Agnes,” he said, “you are a brilliant woman. Good thing I married you!”
Agnes: “How true.”
Clyde: “I’m taking this idea to the good ol’ boys at the coffee shop to share with their wives. Reckon if we git enough women writing opinions like yours, maybe those idiot marketers will back off.”
Agnes: “We can only hope so.” ❖
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