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The Goddess Speaks
ANOTHER telemarketer called today. There is probably no one on this planet that welcomes telephone solicitors, but I believe I'm more tolerant than most. You see, I was a teen-age telemarketer. I was a teen-age
telemarketerIn the summer of 1982, my junior year at McKinley High School, my friend, Laureen, was looking for a job. She found one in the classifieds: "Telemarketer/commissions/no experience necessary." She persuaded me to go with her to an "interview." Having nothing better to do, I went along.
At a second-floor office space at Puck's Alley, a John Candy look-alike gave us a script to read aloud. Once he determined that we could read, we were offered jobs. I didn't want a job at the time, but I had nothing else to do that day, so I thought, "why not?" We could start immediately and earn a $5 commission for each entertainment book that we sold, and earn bonuses as well.
Laureen and I sat down at one of the long tables spread around the perimeter of the room. We each had a telephone and would share a bell, the kind that you tap to get service. Shoeboxes containing phone number lists sat on a card table nearby. We were instructed to take a list and start calling.
The script read: "Is this the man/woman of the house?"
We were to determine by the person's voice whether we were speaking to a man or woman. A simple task, I thought. Not realizing that she needed to make an on-the-spot gender decision, Laureen would say, "Is this the man or woman of the house?" For some reason she had quite a few hang-ups and didn't do too well.
I was pretty successful for a few minutes. I made a sale immediately. My first customer sounded like a middle-aged woman who said she had always wanted one of these entertainment books. I informed her that the book would be delivered immediately to her.
I was ecstatic about the $5 commission. I rang my little bell summoning the fat boss. He waddled over with a deck of cards and asked me to pick a card and a suit. I selected one and said, "spades." The card happened to be a spade so I got a $5 bonus.
Flinging a $5 bill at me, he said to keep up the good work.
Wow, this was like being in Las Vegas! My friend, meanwhile, struggled with hang-ups and potential customers yelling at her. I suggested that she might be insulting them before they got a chance to listen to her sales pitch. I explained to her the "is this the man or woman of the house" thing.
I moved on to my next call. The man of the house answered. Before I could ask, "are you interested?" He said, "I'll take 10!"
I pounded on my bell and the fat boss came over. He said, "Oh boy! That's great! You get 10 more bonus chances!" I picked my 10 cards and suits but only won two bonuses for $10. The guy actually did buy the 10 books, much to my boss' surprise. Eighty dollars in less than 10 minutes was pretty good. If I could keep it up, I'd be making $480 an hour. Who needs college?
My luck was soon to run out. I began getting responses like, "I'M NOT INTERESTED!!!" "HOW DID YOU GET MY NUMBER?!" "Eh girlie, no boddah me. I WATCHING FOOTBALL!"
I didn't sell anymore that day. My friend didn't sell a single book. After five hours, we quit. It was hard not to take things personally. It was a hard way to make money. We limped out, with feelings hurt and confidence shot.
To this day, I take pity on telemarketers. It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it. So now when a telemarketer calls, I reflect back on my experience and politely say, "I'm not interested, thank you," and hang up. It's the most humane thing to do.
Stacy Yuen Hernandez is a writer living in Honolulu.
She has been a news reporter, attorney, animal welfarist,
civil rights advocate and telemarketer.
The Goddess Speaks runs every Tuesday
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