You've just graduated from a university ranked among the top 25 in the nation! And with honors! So, what are you going to do for the next year?!?!? That's right, you're going to work as a telemarketer signing people up for a weight loss program! Can you believe your luck!?!?!
Note: All text in parentheses are the private thoughts that were running through the head of the author during this conversation. This account is not typical of the authors working conditions, however, that does not mean that this is an embellished story in any way. This is an almost complete word-for-word account.
Phone rings
Me: Thanks for calling ---, my name is John, can I ask your name please?
Caller: Billie-Joe.
Me: (You've got to be kidding me, is she calling from a NASCAR race? In fact, she probably just got back from a lynching. Now come on John, remember the diversity training the company just gave you. Treat everyone the same and you're going to get more sales in the end. Translation: even some of these trailer-trash degenerates have credit cards. Alright, give her the spiel, at the very least you're building up good karma.)
How're you doing today Billie-Joe? Good? That's great! Let me give you some information on the --- weight loss program. By the way, how much weight would you like to lose? 100 pounds (Jesus, just kill yourself now, Cardio-vascular Disease is a busy person in this country, save him the trouble)? That is no problem at all on our program (spiel ensues, takes about 2-3 minutes)
So Billie-Joe, do you want to get started with the --- program?
Billie-Joe: Uh, yeah.
Me: (Of course you do you disgusting pig) Great! (And now the weeding out question) What kind of credit card will you be using to get started today?
Billie-Joe: Visa.
Me: (Wow, she said that without hesitation. Maybe this actually did pay off, this treating everyone equally idea is great!) Okay just need to get some information from you. What's your zip code?
Okay, are you in Biloxi, Mississippi? (Shock). Great. (proceeding to fill out shipping and billing information).
Alright Billie-Joe, you can go ahead with that Visa card number.
Billie-Joe: 6-8-4
Me: (Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?) Um, Billie-Joe, most Visa cards start with a 4, are you sure your card doesn't start with a 4?
Billie-Joe: Uh-uh, mine starts with a 6 (note to reader: all Visa cards start with a 4)
Me: (Well, I've already wasted all this time, I might as well stretch this out and see what a complete waste of life this mong is.) Okay Billie-Joe, go ahead with that Visa number.
Billie-Joe: 6-8-4-1-3-7-7-9.
Me: Um, Billie-Joe (I don't think I've ever spoken to anyone in a more patronizing manner) that's only eight numbers. Most credit cards have 16 numbers. Are you sure your credit card doesn't have 16 numbers?
Billie-Joe: Oh yeah, here's the real number (I actually typed this in to see how many numbers she would give me by the way)
Me: Billie-Joe, that's 17 numbers, are you sure you have a real credit card there?
Billie-Joe: Uh, yeah, just leave off the last number.
Me: Okey-dokey. So what's the expiration date on that there Visa card?
Billie-Joe: Umm, April 17th, 2007.
Me: (The hits just keep on coming.) Billie-Joe, most credit cards just have a month and a year for the expiration date. Are you sure yours doesn't have just a month and a year?
Billie-Joe: Uh, yeah, just use that month and year.
Me: (This is almost making me feel bad, what does this pathetic creature hope to accomplish?) Okay I'm putting the card through, hold on, its processing (I obviously did not even try to process this random string of numbers) Oh, I'm sorry Billie-Joe, your card was declined! I'm sure you or your husband has another card though, right? Or a debit card linked to your checking account? We could take that method of payment as well (I just spent over 7 minutes talking to this thing that probably has a lower IQ than an amoeba, I am livid at this point.)
Billie-Joe: You know what? (I can sense she has finally detected my sarcasm.)
Me: (I completely drop the fake phone voice, and in the most belligerent tone I can muster) What?
Billie-Joe: You sound gay.
Me: (Wow, that is the ultimate insult to these red-state Neanderthals, isn't it?)
Well Billie-Joe, I'm not, but I hope you have a lot of fun being obese and living in poverty. Hang up.
(Well, at least the end of that conversation was almost as satisfying as getting a commission. Fucking diversity training.)
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