So here I am, or, more to the point, there I was, working away on the history of cheese in relation to the Women's Institute when suddenly, in the way that they do, or the way that it does or, indeed, the way that it did, the telephone rang.
I was slightly surprised, perhaps vaguely surprised, perhaps both, I can't be certain. I can be certain that there was some degree of surprise involved though, because it wasn't the time of day that I would be expecting to receive a telephone call.
Hence the surprise.
"Hello" I said.
I should have put it down then of course. As soon as I got the four seconds of silence I should have put it down. But no, I held on to the phone and said it again:
"Hello."
And that's when 'James' introduced himself.
"Hello, Mister Brown?"
"What's it about?" said I, full of good cheer at the sound of his sweet foreign tones pleasantly framed with background office noise.
"Hello, I'm James..."
Yes, you're correct - I should have put it down at that point too. But instead, whilst thinking "with an accent like that, if your name is James I have the largest personal tool in Christendom" I responded with a welcoming and inviting "Yeeeeaaaaahhhhhh?"
He probably didn't fully comprehend my subtle alliterative nuances because he proceeded to launch into his spiel about his company that was, in fact, a computer security business. He quickly went on to tell me that my very own computational device was sending out warning messages to them, to him personally, right there and right then...
And yes, right then was the point that I did finally put the phone down; put it down and considered that that was another 30 seconds of my life that I wasn't going to get back. Ever.
And then I spent a few more seconds considering the fact that it was lucky I wasn't a gullible old codger (I admit that I am in fact an old codger, obviously). But a gullible old codger who didn't know any better would very probably have lapped up every word that 'James' was saying. And no doubt it would all have ended in tears, recriminations and large quantities of money going missing out of somebody's bank account.
(Although, it's probably fairly safe to say that it wouldn't have gone missing from my account in the event that I had been a gullible old codger. For it to have gone missing it would have to have been there in the first place and there is just never any money there to be missed. So "Ha!" to you 'James'!! Poverty: the ultimate weapon in financial security.)
Anyway, I thought, probably not for the first time, what a sad old world it is but, alas, I conceded to myself that this is the way of it. Once upon a time a conman had to get off his bottom and ply his trade door to door (and obviously some still do) but it is now so much easier to do it over the phone.
'James' had no luck with me today. But I guess that no matter how often and how many times 'James' hits the proverbial brick wall, if he makes enough calls sooner or later he is going to hit a wall with an open door in it. He probably got one today, eventually.
I suppose it's a bit like corny chat up lines really. If you've got the nerve to use them, and keep using them, then sooner or later one of them is going to work on somebody, somewhere.
Mind you, speaking on a personal level, they have never worked for me. And anyway, I only have one, a very old one, which is, essentially:
"Hello darling, fancy a shag?"
Yes, I know, subtle.
And did I have any luck with it? Well... the best response, as some of you will
already know, was:
"Yes. But not with you."
Harsh, I thought.
Still, not as harsh as what I would like to do to telephone sales callers seemingly unaffected by my presence on the Telephone Preference Service. I mean, what is the point of the TPS? I think that I have had more sales calls in the past couple of months than I have ever had. Have the TPS delisted me? Did I do something to upset them? Did I miss their birthday?
I mean, what?
Deep sigh.
Oh well, I suppose I shall just wait for 'James' to call again. Maybe when he does I'll listen to what he has to say. And then speak in a thick country accent. That usually confuses them. It's ironic really. I fondly recall how I once engaged a 'James-type' person in a conversation whilst using a very slaaaaaack cockney accent. Eventually they hung up on me because they said they couldn't understand me.
Foot, boot, the, on and other.
Result.
I expect I could write a song about that.
Oh, and by the way, that bit about the chat up line, the 'fancy a shag?' bit... well, that was a joke. I've never actually had a chat up line in my life.
And I could probably write a song about that too.
Oh... Hang on - I already have.
:-)
Steve B
I was slightly surprised, perhaps vaguely surprised, perhaps both, I can't be certain. I can be certain that there was some degree of surprise involved though, because it wasn't the time of day that I would be expecting to receive a telephone call.
Hence the surprise.
"Hello" I said.
I should have put it down then of course. As soon as I got the four seconds of silence I should have put it down. But no, I held on to the phone and said it again:
"Hello."
And that's when 'James' introduced himself.
"Hello, Mister Brown?"
"What's it about?" said I, full of good cheer at the sound of his sweet foreign tones pleasantly framed with background office noise.
"Hello, I'm James..."
Yes, you're correct - I should have put it down at that point too. But instead, whilst thinking "with an accent like that, if your name is James I have the largest personal tool in Christendom" I responded with a welcoming and inviting "Yeeeeaaaaahhhhhh?"
He probably didn't fully comprehend my subtle alliterative nuances because he proceeded to launch into his spiel about his company that was, in fact, a computer security business. He quickly went on to tell me that my very own computational device was sending out warning messages to them, to him personally, right there and right then...
And yes, right then was the point that I did finally put the phone down; put it down and considered that that was another 30 seconds of my life that I wasn't going to get back. Ever.
And then I spent a few more seconds considering the fact that it was lucky I wasn't a gullible old codger (I admit that I am in fact an old codger, obviously). But a gullible old codger who didn't know any better would very probably have lapped up every word that 'James' was saying. And no doubt it would all have ended in tears, recriminations and large quantities of money going missing out of somebody's bank account.
(Although, it's probably fairly safe to say that it wouldn't have gone missing from my account in the event that I had been a gullible old codger. For it to have gone missing it would have to have been there in the first place and there is just never any money there to be missed. So "Ha!" to you 'James'!! Poverty: the ultimate weapon in financial security.)
Anyway, I thought, probably not for the first time, what a sad old world it is but, alas, I conceded to myself that this is the way of it. Once upon a time a conman had to get off his bottom and ply his trade door to door (and obviously some still do) but it is now so much easier to do it over the phone.
'James' had no luck with me today. But I guess that no matter how often and how many times 'James' hits the proverbial brick wall, if he makes enough calls sooner or later he is going to hit a wall with an open door in it. He probably got one today, eventually.
I suppose it's a bit like corny chat up lines really. If you've got the nerve to use them, and keep using them, then sooner or later one of them is going to work on somebody, somewhere.
Mind you, speaking on a personal level, they have never worked for me. And anyway, I only have one, a very old one, which is, essentially:
"Hello darling, fancy a shag?"
Yes, I know, subtle.
And did I have any luck with it? Well... the best response, as some of you will
already know, was:
"Yes. But not with you."
Harsh, I thought.
Still, not as harsh as what I would like to do to telephone sales callers seemingly unaffected by my presence on the Telephone Preference Service. I mean, what is the point of the TPS? I think that I have had more sales calls in the past couple of months than I have ever had. Have the TPS delisted me? Did I do something to upset them? Did I miss their birthday?
I mean, what?
Deep sigh.
Oh well, I suppose I shall just wait for 'James' to call again. Maybe when he does I'll listen to what he has to say. And then speak in a thick country accent. That usually confuses them. It's ironic really. I fondly recall how I once engaged a 'James-type' person in a conversation whilst using a very slaaaaaack cockney accent. Eventually they hung up on me because they said they couldn't understand me.
Foot, boot, the, on and other.
Result.
I expect I could write a song about that.
Oh, and by the way, that bit about the chat up line, the 'fancy a shag?' bit... well, that was a joke. I've never actually had a chat up line in my life.
And I could probably write a song about that too.
Oh... Hang on - I already have.
:-)
Steve B