Telemarketer solution

Most weeknights around the supper hour, the phone rings. On the other end is a telemarketer reading from a script. I know it’s a telemarketer because they always say the same thing. They ask to speak to Mr or Mrs Christie. Andrew’s a Thomson. I’m a Ms. My truthful diversion used to be, “Sorry, but my parents aren’t home.”

“That’s okay,” the telemarketer would bleet. “I’ll call back later.” And they would.

So we outsmarted them with call display. I simply ignored the calls. Four rings later, they’d hang up. But they’d call back.

Night after night.

At dinnertime.

So, to save my supper hour, I registered our various phone numbers on Canada’s national Do Not Call Registry.

Problem solved, right? Not quite.

Carpet cleaning services must leave me alone, but registered charities, political parties and newspapers can interrupt my dinner with impunity. Hardly seems fair. If you want to be removed from the exempt lists, you have to specifically ask to be put on their internal Do Not Call lists. This means you must answer the phone.

Sounds a bit backwards to me. But, bit by bit, I’m chipping away at the last of the dinner-time interruptions. I have to talk all over their script, but I think it’s working? Two calls yesterday, none for three days before.

Am I insane to pick up the phone? How do you deal with meal-time telemarketers? And please, when you comment, keep it clean. My mother reads this.

Photo © loop_oh. Published under a Creative Commons License.