Recall: Do Not Call

Do Not Call or not Do Not Call. That is the question. Whether it is nobler to just avoid annoying dinnertime calls or accept them and hurl verbal slings and arrows at unsuspecting minimum wage workers. Two weeks into the implementation of the on-again off-again on-again D-N-C list, mealtime is eerily quiet. There's no one calling. No one to talk to. No one to yell at. I am having second thoughts about permanently hanging up on telemarketers.

Can 52 million Americans be wrong? I don't know, ask Al Gore or George Bush 43 or the Supreme Court. Never the less, 52 million phone numbers are on the Do Not Call federal registry. Although another 78 million home phones are not. Didn't those owners get the 4-1-1 about telemarketers being slightly below Saddam and Osama on the evildoer scale? Aren't they tired of being hounded about roof repairs, long distance service or subscriptions to Witches and Warlock Weekly? Or did they already know the psychological importance of a telemarketer call?

The truth is I am terrified I'll fall prey to every telemarketer pitch. And terrified that I will end up as a photo-op poster-child for some District Attorney's election year ploy to gain votes by trotting out a sap like me who's bought into some phony scam. I fear I will fork over my life savings for alternate weekend time-shares in Baghdad or sign up for pre-need human organs.

But, when the phone rings I can name that call in one note. There's always a little hesitation and then the sweet, upbeat, lively operator's voice. A perky question, "Hello is Mrs. Becker there?" or a peppy, "Hiya, is this Stephanie?" is a dead give-away. No one who really knows me is actually happy to call me. Ask my mother. They know that finding me at home in a good mood is a crapshoot, better yet a long shot. If I'm home at supper, I'm hardly ever cheerful about it. I suffer from a permanent case of PMS - Phone Moody Syndrome. A phone call is just a reminder that I'm eating Lean Cuisine for one. So, when I hear that upbeat banter and an unfamiliar voice acting too familiar, it triggers a verbal barrage worthy of a trash-talking rapper. It's so cathartic. Unless of course, it's my mother. And that's a whole different column.

There's no fun in just saying no and hanging up. Where's the sport in that? These are people who are getting paid to invade your personal space. So annoy back, at triple the rate. There's always the time honored: Can I have your home number so I can call you at an inconvenient time? But my favorite has always been: "I'm sorry, Mrs. Becker is dead." Which is usually followed by this reply, "Is Mr. Becker home?" Which I follow up with, "He's dead too." Which is then followed by another equally insensitive reply, "Perhaps you'd like to consider our (fill in the blank). Who am I speaking to?" To which I answer, "I'm the one who murdered them." Then I cackle and hang up. I'd give anything to see the face of my unknown tormentor. I do enjoy the ying and yang of taking out my daily aggressions on the poor unfortunate on the other end of the line.

I also loved coming home to a blinking machine filled with 800-numbers. It was such great sport hunting down the culprit and blowing off steam. It's a pursuit complicated by the language barrier. Because I live in a multilingual neighborhood I was getting unsolicited phone pitches in at least 4 languages. But that telemarketer happy-talk tone needs no translation. How do you say *&$% off in Korean? Or Armenian? Unfortunately, signing up for the D-N-C list has dimmed my twinkling answering machine. Have I been deemed so unimportant in the economic turnaround Arnold is launching here in Californeeeea that it's not worthy any company to risk an $11,000 fine?

I dutifully signed up for the Do Not Call list. Not joining seemed a bit like not voting for Arnold in the recall election. You didn't want to tell anyone you didn't. I voted for Gary Coleman. I figured I could yell at him. But, I miss the annoyance. I miss the pleasure of the pain. Now, how many signatures do you need to recall Do Not Call?

by Stephanie Becker, Mass Distractions columnist for BestStuff.com