1-800-Do-Not-Call

It took all of three days of me working in an outbound call centre to realise it was not the job for me.

In the beginning, it didn’t sound too bad: benefits, bonuses, vacation, weekends, two paid breaks and you can start tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong – I wasn’t under any misconception – I knew that it wouldn’t be the perfect position for someone like me, with the monotony and the obscure shifts and the rebutting every objection. (For the record, trying to convince a potential client they are wrong is not superior customer service.) What I didn’t realise, at first, was that acting as a customer service representative in the telecommunications industry would me bring me so close to the brink of insanity that I would be able to literally feel my last marbles scurrying around the rapidly emptying expanse of my brain in search of something intellectually lucrative.

Perhaps three days is an exaggeration. To be perfectly honest, it truly only took me two nine-hour long shifts to place my own self under the designated disposition “general not interested”. There were other reasonable options in the system that could’ve been just as easily used to describe my alarmingly quickly growing lack of enthusiasm: “do not call” and “could not be reached” would have been equally reasonable choices. Had they not been paying me, the chosen selection from the drop-down menu would have been “cancel subscription – not satisfied with programming”. My favourite calls were always the ones where the correct response was “answer machine reached”. My least favourite calls were the ones where I would talk for sixty seconds straight, trying to get my offer down the phone line, only to have some smartass ask, “Why did you stop talking?” My response to which was, of course, in my best Vanna White tone, “I thought you might have something to say.”

Despite this drawback, I didn’t regret taking the job. I knew I wouldn’t be keeping it, but it did allow me to conduct short term research. As surprising as it may be (or may not be), there is a notable trend within telecommunications that’s worth taking a few comedic moments to examine. Customers who don’t allow the 1-800 number to automatically divert to their answering machine can be divided into three distinct categories: the Misinformed, the Dismissers, and the Avoiders.

Allow me to break this down in a little more detail. First, we have the Misinformed. These individuals were always the most frustrating to attempt to communicate with. I’m not sure if it was a matter of each and every one of them being incapable of listening, or if an entire third or my calls were made to people whose life goal was, for some reason, to troll customer service representatives in the telecommunications industry. The subscription I’d been entrusted to sell to people was Sirius Satellite Radio, and each of the numbers that autodialled through my restrictive little headset belonged to someone who had purchased a vehicle that came with a complimentary six-month subscription to the radio service. My job, naturally, was to convince them to extend that membership. On the screen before me, which happened to be the least enticing set of pixels I’ve ever set eyes on (an impressive feat, considering I grew up in the first generation to explore unhinged Omegle chats at two o’clock in the morning), I had access to their vehicle types, their license plate numbers, and some basic personal information. I could see when they’d purchased this vehicle and when their current subscription would expire, which was typically in the near future.

The Misinformed tended to believe, first and foremost, that Sirius Satellite Radio was a permanent fixture for their vehicle. They consistently misunderstood that this was not, in fact, a service that would forever be available to them simply because they’d purchased their Subaru Forester. Some of these women would argue with me over the last digit of their license plate while their husband had the vehicle in question at work and couldn’t provide verification. Some of these men would insist their date of purchase had been in April... absolutely not the second of May. The Misinformed are your Karens and your... have we agreed on the male equivalent of a Karen? Your Karens and your Kens. Here are all of the people who don’t care what you’re offering or whether they’re interested, they simply care that they are correct and you are not. End of story – but certainly not end of conversation.

The Dismissers were, perhaps, my favourite category of calls if only for the sole reason that these people tended to be the most creative – and the most honest – in their interactions. Some of them assured me they would be selling their vehicle in the upcoming weeks. Some of them would tell me they’d already gotten rid of that pesky car they purchased just less than half a year ago. One of them laughed when I explained how the subscription worked, only to reveal that he’d recently lost his sight and didn’t exactly plan to drive the pickup in question again.

These are the people who claimed they didn’t listen to music, they didn’t like music, or their lives would in fact be simpler if they didn’t have to argue over a station with their significant others. Some of these calls ended abruptly with the client insisting they simply didn’t care or didn’t want to speak with me, and somehow that was refreshing. It meant that I would spend another five seconds of solace in the blank space between repeating my pitch over and over and over again.

We will end with our least creative liars: the Avoiders. Avoiders will do anything to put an end to your pestering calls but are unfortunately ill equipped for the task. This group includes the fast-tongued and famous, “I’m not interested” before you’ve even had the opportunity to say your name. What if I’m not interested in you, hm? What if you will actually be enamoured and enthralled by my proposal? Or is it simply a matter of your not being interested in anything at all? Free money, incredible sex, a dream vacation? No, sorry. You weren’t interested. Then, of course, there are the classic, “I’m leaving the country,” or a very long, thoughtful pause before, “You... have the wrong number?”

On my very first day of work, I made a call only to be told that my customer was in a meeting, and to call back in twenty minutes. Upon my call to follow up, an elderly woman answered the phone, and to my request to speak with the man I’d spoken to earlier, she replied, “He’s dead, dear. Dear. Been dead for three months.” I’m willing to admit that she doesn’t exactly fall into the category of Avoiders, considering how creative her lie happened to be (either that, or I somehow transitioned timelines while sitting in my mind-numbing cubicle).

There were some good conversations interspersed through my shifts. Some lonely elderly people simply happy to have someone to talk to and some people so eager to make a positive impact that they couldn’t bring themselves to mind the interruption to their daily routine. Most people didn’t care about the subscription in question, but a few could still be convinced to talk about their favourite channels to listen to. Every now and again, a call would catch a family or group of friends in the middle of a joyous gathering, and my call felt like minor insight into their far-away lives.

When I’d interviewed for the job, I’d presented a single requirement of my own: I needed a few days off right after working my first two weeks. I was going to my first music festival, traveling to a new city alone for the first time and prioritising a brand new and exciting experience.

I left to watch some of my favourite artists perform, to walk straight across this foreign city in the pouring rain, and I knew that when I returned it wouldn’t be to that cubicle where my own opportunities for joy and laughter were so limited. It was the first time I quit a job without giving reasonable notice, but it wouldn’t be the last.

The next time, it took me only three hours before walking away—and I’m better for it. I’m better for choosing not to spend my time doing anything that turns me into a person I can’t see myself thriving as.

And I’m kind to those who make their living making calls they would probably rather not have to make.