'Tis the season to play nice

"Meg" WIP- Part one. Unfortunately with bad, bad lighting.
Copyright Rita Woodburne

"Meg" WIP- Part two.
Copyright Rita Woodburne
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Regular readers will know that I have a dislike of telemarketers. However, since this is supposed to be the season for being nice to others I figured I should extend the courtesy to telemarketers as well and today I got to spread my own brand of cheer to one lucky soul.

It started off when the phone rang and I answered it only to hear the tell-tale click that occurs before the telemarketer starts speaking. Normally, in what could be classified as a Pavlov- type reaction, when I hear the click that's the signal to my brain to start dispensing irritation hormones (I'm sure that's the proper technical/ medical terminology). Today I had to check myself and reverse years of conditioning and instead when the click happened I made myself smile.

I won't say what company they were calling on behalf of, but it starts with "R" and ends with "ogers", and although I've told this company in the past not to call me they continue to do so. Masochists. As it turns out, instead of the usual business cell phone program they try to sell me today they wanted to sell me high-speed internet access. 'Well, by golly,' I think to myself 'sign me up!'

Before I can get a word in edgewise they proceed to tell me all the fantastic benefits of high-speed internet access (like I don't know the benefits, I'm on dial- up for crikey sakes, carrier pigeons are faster than dial-up) and what a great rate I can get if I sign up now. Free installation! A discount on my first 3 months! And if I sign up for cable too they'll throw in even more extras! Stupid smile still plastered to my face and with the most cheerfulness I can muster I say: "Well by golly, sign me up!" I say this because I know that due to where I live it's quite impossible to get high-speed installed and, as I mentioned before, I'm spreading my own brand of cheer.

The excited telemarketer starts filling out the form on their computer asking me my name, phone number and address. As soon as he gets to address there's silence. It seems we've hit a stumbling block when it comes to the address because what I already know has now been revealed to the telemarketer. With a tone of utter defeat he says to me: "Ma'am, I'm really sorry but we can't give you the high-speed access."
"Oh," I say, "but I was so looking forward to getting high-speed access, I need you to sell me the high-speed access! You wanted me to buy it and now I've got my credit card ready and I can't have it? Please, is there nothing you can do?"
There was some silence and then he said: "Uh, I don't know. I'll have to ask my supervisor."
He puts me on hold and I get to listen to part of America's "Muskrat Love" followed by an unidentifiable singer who bellows out "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas". When he comes back I tell him there was nice music on the phone while I was waiting. Again, a confused silence and then: "I'm sorry, we can't get the high-speed access to you. Due to your location it's just not possible."

I'll spare you the rest of the details but I proceed to have a mild breakdown on the phone because of the tragic loss of what never was, namely the high-speed internet access. I compose myself, thank the telemarketer for calling and wish him a Merry Christmas even though he couldn't provide me with what I really wished for this holiday season, a high-speed Christmas. I hang up the phone and pat myself on the back for not losing my temper and swearing at the telemarketer like I normally do.

That's right, I'm just spreading the Christmas season cheer, one telemarketer at a time.