I worked all four years of college as a telemarketer. This isn’t a fact I’m particularly proud of, and I’m still a little nervous that I’ll someday have to answer to a LOT of people who ended up with the New York Times despite not actually wanting it.
Most people who work telemarketing hate it (if you can imagine). The average lifespan of a telemarketer is probably about a month and very few people ever make money at it.
I was one of the few. There were weeks that my hourly wage with commission was two or three times what I’m making now, SIX YEARS after college. I was good because I discovered the two-part secret of telemarketing (and convincing anybody to do anything):
- Get the person to think that it’s his idea to order a newspaper from New York even though he lives in Mobile, Alabama.
- GET OFF THE PHONE FAST.
That’s not to say I didn’t get rejected. Telemarketing is 99% rejection and .9% doesn’t speak English. When you tell most people outside of work that you’re a telemarketer, they snicker and tell you that when a telemarketer calls them, they never buy. Instead, they just hang up.
Like they’re baaaaaaaad.
They’re usually a little disappointed to learn that hanging up without speaking is what most people do. In fact, I would go through so many stretches of people hanging up without speaking, that I became proficient in plowing through an entire chapter of homework or completing the New York Times crossword puzzle* while repeating my spiel over and over again because I didn’t have to worry about anyone actually engaging in a conversation.
* “Finish” is actually much too strong of a word for the New York Times crossword puzzle. I only ever really finished Monday puzzles and a few Tuesdays. By Thursday or Friday, I counted finding three or more answers as “finishing” the puzzle. The Sunday puzzle? No one has ever finished a Sunday puzzle.
So it was always a treat to speak to someone, and even more of a treat when that person had something creative to say.
That’s why my single favorite call in four years of telemarketing was a rejection. I could have made twenty sales that night, and it wouldn’t have given me the joy of that one rejection.
When the computer connected me to the call, I started my spiel on autopilot.
“Hi, this is Dustin Brady calling on behalf of the New York Times. How are…”
I got interrupted by none other than James Earl Jones.
(I am open to the possibility that it wasn’t James Earl Jones, but if it wasn’t, it was someone who sounded EXACTLY like him.)
“I wouldn’t take the New York Times if you gave it to me.”
“Oh, that’s fine, we actually…”
James was not finished. He continued in the even, calm voice of a man who had been sipping tea by his phone all day, preparing for this very moment.
“I wouldn’t take the New York Times if you gave it to me with a dollar in every paper.
I wouldn’t take the New York Times if you gave it to me with a
Chicken.
Pot.
Pie.
And I wouldn’t wipe my butt with it.”
Click.
Life Lesson #27
If you’re going to tell off a telemarketer, do it right. It will make both of your days.
DUDE! Not only is this stellar work on your part, I was sitting next to you when you had that call. Legendary.
PCF fo' LIFE!!
Haha! I still remember when you told that person you didn't mean to "stomp on their cake," and I continue to try working that phrase into conversation whenever possible.
Very funny and answers something I've always wondered about.