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I hate it when the phone
rings at dinner time. Ten to one it's a soliciting call. Someone wanting
to clean my rugs, or asking me to buy a newspaper subscription, to support
the Be Kind to Dogs Foundation, or to bury me.
I answer the phone, politely
say, "I'm not interested, thank you," and hang up trying not
to slam the phone in their ear, after all they're only doing a job --
a minimum wage job at that. It's taken lots of practice to learn the
hanging up bit, let me tell you.
I'm suspicious of anyone
asking for money over the phone -- I know, it's supposed to pressure
me into making a donation -- but I refuse and tell them I'll consider
their request if they send me something in the mail -- nothing ever
comes.
But most of all, I have no
patience for people wanting to know what I think about various brands
of pop, or who I'd vote for, or any other personal preferences. I've
devised an effective way of handling those folks.
I lie.
Ring...
"Hello," I answer.
I never volunteer more than I absolutely have to.
"Can I speak to Mrs. Grenfell?"
The giveaway. There's no Mrs. Grenfell here.
"This is her speaking."
See, right away a lie.
"This is the Maritime Marketing Agency,"
the voice on the other end says sweetly. I can tell, though, from how
she sounds that she's reading a script. Maybe it's the mechanical way
the words come out.
Anyway, I don't say anything.
I just wait.
"Could I have five minutes of your
time?"
"Sure." Why not?
"We're surveying households in your
area to find out what local brands your family uses."
They're really wasting their
time. I'm not a typical shopper. I mostly buy fresh produce, a few frozen
goods, some cleaning things. I buy in bulk whenever I can, just the
amounts I need, ignoring name brands. They hate me at the check out
because almost none of my purchases clear the scanner; everything has
to be weighed and punched in separately.
"Um, hmm," I intone.
"Can I ask you some questions?"
This is the tricky moment.
Do I play the game or bow out? I used to tell them right off that I
lied but then they got wise. They don't want to waste their time on
someone who doesn't tell the truth.
I've become more devious.
Get 'em hooked and then lie; that's my strategy now.
"Certainly," I answer then wait
for the spiel.
"Does you family prefer Coke or Pepsi?"
"Coke," I say; I buy neither.
"Do you choose Maxwell House Instant
Coffee or Nescafé?"
"Nabob Fine Grind Drip," I reply.
I haven't bought coffee for several years, I drink hot water instead
-- a hot drink is a hot drink and it doesn't give me the jitters, see.
"Do you use Colgate or Crest?"
"Aim." That's true, I prefer
Aim Unflavoured Gel; I throw it in just to confuse things.
We go through the questionnaire.
I answer every question.
"Thank you for your time," the
voice says. She's ready to move on.
"Before you go, I better tell you
I lied," I say politely.
"You what?" I can hear the disbelief,
maybe it's dismay.
"I lied," I repeat.
I don't know why they don't
hang up right then but they never do.
"You mean all your answers are false?"
"No, just some of them. I don't lie
all the time; just some of the time."
"Well, does your family prefer Coke or
Pepsi?"
Oh, no. Here we go again.
Better put a stop to this fast.
"No point in asking, I can't remember
what I said before. Just wanted to tell you I lied, that's all."
She hangs up.
You know, lately, I don't
seem to get as many of those calls as I used to.
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