Telebabble

By James Bellarosa

I get annoyed sometimes when people bash telemarketers, and almost everybody I know does it. "They're pests," they say. "They haven't got the stuff to get a real job. They're bigger nuisances than the tax collector."

I disagree completely. I have always found telemarketers to be polite, patient, and fun to talk with. I don't care what other people think; as far as I'm concerned, telemarketers have gotten a bum rap, and I'd much rather talk to them than most other people who call me, including the tax collector.

Actually, I get very few calls, but last night a telemarketer phoned just as I finished dinner. It had been an uneventful day, and except for a brief and climactic clash with a housefly, I'd had no fun. The youngish-sounding woman identified herself as Miss Ning.

"Thanks for calling, Miss Ning," I said. "I like getting calls, but for me they're so infrequent I sometimes record them and play them back on a slow day."

"Then let's see what we can do about that tonight, shall we, Mr. Folrey?" she warbled.

"Sometimes they hang up on me and don't blink an eye," I said.

"That seems uncalled for," Miss Ning said. "You seem like a perfectly courteous gentleman."

"Next time I hang up. I don't blink, so it's even."

Miss Ning hesitated, then: "Well sir, the reason for my call tonight is to ask if you've been considering replacing your old windows with new, heat-saving windows. We're running a sale —"

I interrupted to welcome such a timely window call. "Everyone in our neighborhood is on the lookout for a peeping tom," I said, "and his name is really Tom. When we all started calling him Peeping Tom, he changed his name to Guy."

"Peeping Guy?" the caller laughed.

"He isn't too bright," I said. "Eventually, he changed it again."

"I'm afraid to ask," Miss Ning giggled. "I mean it's not really a laughing matter but —"

"He changed it to Miles," I said.

"Peeping Miles?!"

"He owns a telescope, which isn't very bright," I said, then asked, "May I call you by your first name?"

"Sure. It's Eve," she said. "Well sir, I'd like to tell you a bit about our windows, if I may. As I said, we're running a sale this week —"

So I asked Eve if there was a danger that hearsay would lure odd people to the windows for a look-see. "Some people get a rush from exotic windows, " I said, "and that might open the door for one of them to become a peeping tom."

"No sir!" Eve chirped. "No danger of that whatsoever."

"Because I don't want to get sued," I said. "Because so many things set people off. I know someone who dresses up as a cat every time he hears a train whistle."

"What?!"

"I don't want my neighbors fooling with costumes, Eve, " I said. "They're a sketch already."

She didn't respond.

"Hello?" I said.

"I'm here, sir. I was just getting ready to tell you about the heat-saving properties of our windows, because winters get pretty cold here in the Northeast. Would you like to hear about that?" Eve asked.

So I said yes, and she began explaining how the unique composition of her window glass reflected heat back inside.