Sunday, March 23, 2008

  • I Also Harrass Telemarketers.

    I hate it when parents ask who's calling in that infuriating I'm-trying-way-too-hard-to-be-polite-when-I-really-suspect-you-of-being-a-drug-dealer way. I'm always tempted to tell them I am a 47 year old man named Frank who lives with his laptop Charlene in his mother's basement and spends his days trying to convince unsuspecting young girls into taking off their tops on webcam, and would you PLEASE let me speak with your daughter? But I think they would probably hang up on me, so I just say "It's Shoshana." all fake and honey-sweet, hoping my voice is radiating youthful innocence and joi de vivre.

    Why they feel the need to ask who I am is beyond me. I mean, I'm pretty sure I sound like a typical teenage girl. If a typical teenage girl is asking to speak with your typical teenage daughter, chances are the person on the phone is neither drug dealer nor internet predator.

    I guess you never know though. Maybe it's all an act. Maybe I'm just waiting for the right moment to sneak into your suburban mansion with Charlene here and slip little Betty some crack.

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