Today I received a call from a drunk telemarketer. I realized he was drunk pretty quickly, but it took me a while to catch onto the fact that he was a solicitor. I mean, I was picking up the landline (yes, apparently my family still lives in the Dark Ages), and I thought that maybe somebody in my house might be in correspondence with some weird drunk dude, and I didn’t want to ruin that relationship forever. Call it generosity for this potential eccentric acquaintance, or curiosity, or just stupidity (or too much free time on my hands?), but I decided to humor him to see what he was calling about. This is what happened:
Me: Um, hello?
Me: May I ask who’s calling?
Him: I’m Josh Sanderson from mgrshmiglmimble (that’s my best guess, anyway)
Him: Have you heard of mgrshmiglmimble?
Him: Haah, rilly?? Well I’m calling for [my last name] because you won the sweepstakes of–
Me: *finally realizing I’m being scammed* Oh, I’m not interested.
*no pause at all*
Him: Fuck you, bitch.
*I hang up on him, although it was probably mutual*
While I’ve had “Fuck you, bitch” spoken to me before, I’m a millenial (unfortunately) so it’s never been with actual anger. (Seriously, we need to find better ways to express affection/appreciation/I’mfakeannoyedwithyourightnow or whatever we mean when we say it.) Needless to say, I was terrified.
Some less paranoid people would’ve laughed this off, but for me, it’s kind of like that feeling where the cops pull up behind you and you freak out and go “OMG WHAT DID I DO WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO ARREST ME FOR” and you think about that time when you sorta kinda but not really cut someone in line at Dunkin’ Donuts but she was talking on her phone so it was kind of her fault, or when you may or may not have gone through the red light but you were aaaallmost in the intersection anyway and you would’ve had to wait another 5 minutes for the cycle so who could really blame you, or when you blew through that stop sign because that totally didn’t look like an intersection that would have a stop sign, I mean it was a main road intersecting some tiny neighborhood streets for crying out loud. So from this rant, you learn that I am both a hugely bad-ass criminal (sarcasm) and very guilty about it (not sarcasm at all, and now I feel bad). If that’s my reaction to a police car, imagine how horrible my reaction was to the angry drunk dude on the phone.
I thought about all my recent transgressions, and here’s some potential ideas that I’ve put together
- He was the dude from the tire store that I never called back even though I promised I would because I didn’t want to buy a $200 tire. He was really mad, and he was talking slowly in order to keep me on the line so he could track my address and come beat me up, but then I figured him out too quickly so he swore at me
- He was the waiter from the restaurant that I gave a bad tip to because he was kind of serving us, but then we went to the counter for dessert, so he didn’t really serve it to us, so I didn’t have to tip on the pastries (but obviously I still feel guilty about it). He’s secretly amazing at technology (or telepathy) and just by talking to me on the phone, he figured out my address and is going to come beat me up.
The moral of the story is, if you have any paranoid or guilt-ridden friends, you should totally prank them by calling from an unknown number, drunkenly swearing at them, then hanging up. I’ll definitely join in just as soon as I work up the courage to get out from under my bed where I’m rigging up a highly sensitive security system for my apartment.