You know how it is.
The 'phone rings. You answer it. A voice mispronounces your name and tells you that your computer needs fixing, or asks to speak to you without first advising who it is that is calling, or if they are using a random call programme, simply hangs up because someone has answered before you.
Infuriating.
Various people have found ways of dealing with this, from call preference to one ingenious person who made his number a toll number so that the companies had to pay him for the privilege of calling him.
My response varies from the angry, to the humorous, to keeping them talking, to simply hanging up.
Even as I am writing this the 'phone rang and someone asked to speak to Geoff ....., when I asked what she wanted to speak with him about she said she was from the debt advisory line, hmm, again, thank you but I have enough debt to be going on with, thank you for your call.
What makes no sense is that if I needed health cover, or new windows, or a new boiler, or a car, or a therapist, or a conservatory, or debt advice, then I would initiate the search using yellow pages, the internet or by going shopping (unless I was in debt!).
How many people receiving a cold call about their energy supplier, missold insurance or whatever, would immediately think, Gosh! I never thought of that, how kind of you to call, yes, absolutely, here are my credit card details, help yourself to whatever you need.
It is incredibly annoying.
But then I think, well, it's a job, it means that someone is being paid, and well, that's a good thing, probably these days on commission only, which is a bad thing, and then I feel slightly guilty for hanging up on them, but only slightly.
And, if they're from India, I think hmm, at least they're making Rupee!
It's the same with the unsolicited mail that comes pouring through the door.
All sorts of people who have paid for my address from someone else's data base, writing to me in envelopes that sometimes have my name, sometimes refer to me as the addressee or the occupier offering me a wide variety of goods, services and opportunities.
Most of it goes straight into the recycling bin.
The postman once asked me to be sure to tear it up so that he couldn't be accused of not delivering it, I did point out that he could tear it up himself and put it straight into the recycling rather than making the dog bark so fiercely and frightening himself (he was afraid of dogs!) but he said he couldn't.
Then every other Friday, it used to be weekly, comes the other side of this story when at some unearthly hour in the a.m. the recycling lorry pulls into our street and takes all the offending paper and the torn envelopes away to be turned into yet more offending paper and tearable envelopes, proudly bearing the logo, made from recycled paper.
Brilliant.
It's an almost perfect job creation scheme.
Post Men, Bin Men, workers at the recycling plant all kept in employment through the printing, distribution and circulation of pieces of completely useless paper.
If only I could be paid to be the key actor in this recycling drama then it would be perfect, so the dog barks, I go to the door, look at the junk mail, tear it all in half and put it straight into the bin, takes a minute each day and I hope that the people whose jobs now rely on my contribution, appreciate it.
Perhaps instead of leaving a Christmas box for the bin men and the postie in recognition of my contribution to their continuing employment,they could give me a Christmas gift?
The 'phone rings. You answer it. A voice mispronounces your name and tells you that your computer needs fixing, or asks to speak to you without first advising who it is that is calling, or if they are using a random call programme, simply hangs up because someone has answered before you.
Infuriating.
Various people have found ways of dealing with this, from call preference to one ingenious person who made his number a toll number so that the companies had to pay him for the privilege of calling him.
My response varies from the angry, to the humorous, to keeping them talking, to simply hanging up.
Even as I am writing this the 'phone rang and someone asked to speak to Geoff ....., when I asked what she wanted to speak with him about she said she was from the debt advisory line, hmm, again, thank you but I have enough debt to be going on with, thank you for your call.
What makes no sense is that if I needed health cover, or new windows, or a new boiler, or a car, or a therapist, or a conservatory, or debt advice, then I would initiate the search using yellow pages, the internet or by going shopping (unless I was in debt!).
How many people receiving a cold call about their energy supplier, missold insurance or whatever, would immediately think, Gosh! I never thought of that, how kind of you to call, yes, absolutely, here are my credit card details, help yourself to whatever you need.
It is incredibly annoying.
But then I think, well, it's a job, it means that someone is being paid, and well, that's a good thing, probably these days on commission only, which is a bad thing, and then I feel slightly guilty for hanging up on them, but only slightly.
And, if they're from India, I think hmm, at least they're making Rupee!
It's the same with the unsolicited mail that comes pouring through the door.
All sorts of people who have paid for my address from someone else's data base, writing to me in envelopes that sometimes have my name, sometimes refer to me as the addressee or the occupier offering me a wide variety of goods, services and opportunities.
Most of it goes straight into the recycling bin.
The postman once asked me to be sure to tear it up so that he couldn't be accused of not delivering it, I did point out that he could tear it up himself and put it straight into the recycling rather than making the dog bark so fiercely and frightening himself (he was afraid of dogs!) but he said he couldn't.
Then every other Friday, it used to be weekly, comes the other side of this story when at some unearthly hour in the a.m. the recycling lorry pulls into our street and takes all the offending paper and the torn envelopes away to be turned into yet more offending paper and tearable envelopes, proudly bearing the logo, made from recycled paper.
Brilliant.
It's an almost perfect job creation scheme.
Post Men, Bin Men, workers at the recycling plant all kept in employment through the printing, distribution and circulation of pieces of completely useless paper.
If only I could be paid to be the key actor in this recycling drama then it would be perfect, so the dog barks, I go to the door, look at the junk mail, tear it all in half and put it straight into the bin, takes a minute each day and I hope that the people whose jobs now rely on my contribution, appreciate it.
Perhaps instead of leaving a Christmas box for the bin men and the postie in recognition of my contribution to their continuing employment,they could give me a Christmas gift?
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