The telephone rings

In this age of answering machines and caller ID, I haven’t been motivated to sign up for the Do Not Call List. My phone rings more than I’d like, but I don’t feel obligated to pick up the phone unless I know who’s on the other end. Between the answering machine and caller ID, I’m usually covered. But there was one caller whose persistence simply astonished me. Every single day for the past two months, the phone would ring at precisely 9:15AM, Monday through Sunday. Caller ID said it was The Manhattan Club. I ignored the call as well as possible, but the one annoying feature of that call was that as soon as my answering machine picked up, the call went directly to a dial tone that just kept going and going and going through my answering machine’s speakers. I’d pick up the phone to disconnect the dial tone. I’m not sure how long the dial tone would have gone on. It was too loud and irritating to let it scream at me for more than a few seconds. Especially irritating on a Sunday morning when the screaming dial tone yanked me out of a lovely slumber.

Last Wednesday I’d had enough and when the call arrived, right on schedule, I picked up and, after a brief pause, a human being also picked up the call. Two months worth of persistence amounted to an outfit in New York wanting to send me to New York for FREE (except for a few hidden costs, of course) to paint the town red. I understand that folks have to make a living as best they can, but I was quite short with this young fellow. And we established that under no circumstances was his outfit to call me again. Ever. And he was pretty good about it, apologizing for bothering me and swearing that it wouldn’t happen again. So far, the 9:15AM time slot has been silent. We’ll see how long that lasts. But I think it might.

Right on the heels of that call, however, came another and I was just irritated enough to pick up with a snotty “Hello!”. The guy on the other end started right off telling me he wasn’t calling to ask me for money, but did I know about this great product—5 year light bulbs? “No,” I lied.

He went on to explain that these fantastic light bulbs are made by mentally disabled people and it’s a great opportunity to support them. Wouldn’t I like to support them? We all like to support the mentally disabled, don’t we?

“Not with light bulbs,” I said.

That wasn’t the expected response, apparently. He was a little flustered for a couple of seconds. But then he got back into his groove and said he’d send me the light bulbs to try out and then I could buy them.

“How much of the purchase price goes to the mentally disabled?” I asked.

He didn’t know. I told him that I’d wait until he found out. No, really. I’d wait. I insist.

He put me on hold and when he came back he told me, somewhat sheepishly, that a mere 5% of the purchase price went to the support of the mentally disabled people that he was trying to make me feel guilty for not wanting to support. At $10 per box, that would be a whopping 50 cent contribution for the disabled who purportedly made the bulbs.

So I said, “Tell you what. I have every light fixture in my house outfitted with fluorescent light bulbs and they’ll probably last me 7 years. I don’t need light bulbs. But I’ll be happy to write a check and send it directly to my local organization that teaches developmentally disabled people the skills that they need to become self-sufficient in my community. They’ll get the full benefit of all of my contribution. How’s that?”

He was very polite and said it was probably a good alternative. I thought so, too.

And yes, I did write a check and delivered it personally, yesterday, while I was out and about. I think everyone was quite happy with that arrangement, too. Except maybe for the light bulb sales guy, but even he admitted that it made more sense.

So. I guess, once in a while, there is some good that can come out of unsolicited spam calls. Nevertheless, I find it terribly offensive to use disabled people as the hook to guilt people into buying expensive products that really don’t benefit the disabled very much at all. That’s so wrong.