Telemarketer Tell All

Good afternoon, sir.

I’m calling about the extended warranty for your car, sir, I’m afraid it extends way to far.

I canceled it today because you need to pay. Give me your money before your next crash or your car can eat some hay.

You don’t need to shout, and I don’t like the tone of your voice, but not paying me is your own damn choice.

Don’t hang up on me now, I need this job, you slob. Extend your warranty or I’ll personally smash your car into a blob.

There’s silence on the phone, I’ll call him back. He’s not picking up, his address I will track.

Now I found where he lives and will write him a nasty letter, but who’s breathing do I hear behind me? I don’t think he will make my life better.

I slowly turned my chair around to see the man from the phone, he was standing there looking angry and alone.

You can’t force me to extend the warranty, the man from the phone says with a shout, who’s now standing in front of me with his fists out.

He clocks me in the face and beats my nose to a pulp, I roll out of my chair and take a big gulp.

Right before he kicks me in the stomach I beg and I plead, sorry for taking this job as a telemarketer, it was just money that I did need.

He took pity on me, or so he said, before spitting sticky brown stuff all over my head.

“I quit,” I shouted, I’m done with this job. Next time I might get beaten by an angry mob.

I don’t know how this man tracked me down, but for telemarketers like me, his conscience was gone and left me wearing a frown.