Real life conversation: I'm not a telemarketer; I just sell products by phone at inconvenient times

[ Bekah’s cell phone rings, interrupting our conversation.]

Bekah: Hello?

...

Bekah: (mock excitement) He is, can I ask who’s calling?

...

[ Bekah holds her phone out to me with an annoyed look on her face. Perplexed, I ask who it is. I have my own cell phone, so no one calls her looking for me. Apparently, some credit card company has called six times all ready *in one day* looking for me, this caller would be number seven. I do not have a credit card, so I know it is not for collections. Only one of the previous six callers would speak with my wife, and he insisted he would call back, despite Bekah’s request not to. I do not remember the name of the company, but they had the word “gold” in it. From here on, I shall refer to them as Golden Idiots. ]

Me: Hello?

Golden Idiot: Is this Nicholas?

Me: It is.

Golden Idiot: Hello, sir, my name is Fran with the Golden Idiots. We have pre approved you for a line of credit to help you rebuild your credit.

Me: I don’t care. You’ve called me seven times today. I personally believe that seven calls in one day is a bit excessive for a telemarketing company, and you can not…

Golden Idiot: (interrupting) Sir, We are not a telemarketing company.

Me: You have a product that you are offering, and you are calling me. That makes you a telemarketer. (thinking: you’re not a non-profit organization, civic or government agency, no are you conducting a survey or requesting campaign contributions. You are a telemarketer.)

Golden Idiot: (aggravation beginning to show) Sir, we are a financial institution, we do not…

Me: (my turn to interrupt) I’m sorry, but I used to work for a “financial institution” and we did telemarketing. Do not ever call me again.

Golden Idiot: Well, you have a nice eh…

[ I can see it clearly. She’s gripping her keyboard like it is the bottom rung of a fire escape, knuckles ghost white. Jaw clenched, teeth barred, cheeks flushed, hair frayed, temples pulsing, and forehead creased; her body trembles as her blood red eyes burn. She is staring down her mortal enemy, the computer, as if it is the embodiment of all things evil. She is repeating the mantra in her head, "I am not allowed to disconnect the call. I am not allowed to..." ]

Golden Idiot: Have a nice life! (click…)

[ I snap the phone shut and hand it back to Bekah ]

Me: She told me to have a nice life. I don’t think we’ll hear from them again.