Grab a cocktail and enjoy.
The other day I’m at home, typing away on my keyboard when the phone rings–completely interrupting my boredom.. I pick it up and a man with a creepy voice asks for my brother. I immediately smell sales call, so I start screening. This is often the high point of my day. I find that kind of sad. “May I ask who’s calling?” I politely said. “This is Agent Richardson.” Agent Richardson? Is he fucking kidding me. Agent my ass. “What agency are you with, Agent Richardson?” I inquired with a full dose of fake interest. There was a long pause and he said, “Winters International.”
I’ve been feeling especially feisty lately, so I immediately responded. “Wow. That must be wicked cool. Is that one of those covert agencies like ISIS or ODIN, or one of the bullshit ones like the CIA and NCIS. C’mon dude,” I asked with an overdose of sarcasm. “Do you get to kill people? Do you get cool gadgets like James Bond and Sterling Archer?”
There was again a long silence, but I could hear background noise so I knew he hadn’t yet hung up. “Hey secret agent man,” I said with all the seriousness I could muster. “Take us off the top secret scam list you have. Peace out.”
I don’t want to toot my own horn, but that is the way to handle sales calls. Seriously. What kind of an agent is this guy? Is he a real estate agent? A sales agent? Maybe he’s an agent of the devil. But he was certainly no agent of the law.
My four-year-old nephew would call bullshit on this guy. Well, he would if my brother and sister-in-law let me teach him crap like that. But they don’t. Probably because they’re good parents. I digress.
I get what these people are doing. I know they have quotas and overweight asshole sales managers who spend half the day firing up Camel non-filters and the other half sweating stains into their chairs and the carpet underneath the desk. I know their life most likely sucks some major, major ass.
I worked for a collection agency, so I get all the pressure this guy is under, but telling the gatekeeper that you’re a fucking agent? That takes some cajones. That’s someone who won’t even come close to making his goal, but he’s gonna try every shady thing he can to somehow not get fired.
This is Alec Baldwin yelling at Jack Lemon in Glengarry Glen Ross. This is, “Third prize is you’re fired.” This dude’s life fucking blows. And I’m truly sorry for that. I really am, but don’t start off our relationship with straight up bullshit, Agent Richardson. That ain’t how it works, playah. If you want to talk to the man in charge, you got to be nice to me.
Especially when I’m on my man period. When I’m not, I’ll just hang up on your ass, but when I’m on the dude rag, I’ll screw with you a bit.
Let me leave you with a fun way to jump start your weekend.
The other day I’m at home, typing away on my keyboard when the phone rings–completely interrupting my boredom.. I pick it up and a man with a creepy voice asks for my brother. I immediately smell sales call, so I start screening. This is often the high point of my day. I find that kind of sad. “May I ask who’s calling?” I politely said. “This is Agent Richardson.” Agent Richardson? Is he fucking kidding me. Agent my ass. “What agency are you with, Agent Richardson?” I inquired with a full dose of fake interest. There was a long pause and he said, “Winters International.” I’ve been feeling especially feisty lately, so I immediately responded. “Wow. That must be wicked cool. Is that one of those covert agencies like ISIS or ODIN, or one of the bullshit ones like the CIA and NCIS. C’mon dude,” I asked with an overdose of sarcasm. “Do you get to kill people? Do you get cool gadgets like James Bond and Sterling Archer?”
There was again a long silence, but I could hear background noise so I knew he hadn’t yet hung up. “Hey secret agent man,” I said with all the seriousness I could muster. “Take us off the top secret scam list you have. Peace out.”
I don’t want to toot my own horn, but that is the way to handle sales calls. Seriously. What kind of an agent is this guy? Is he a real estate agent? A sales agent? Maybe he’s an agent of the devil. But he was certainly no agent of the law.
My four-year-old nephew would call bullshit on this guy. Well, he would if my brother and sister-in-law let me teach him crap like that. But they don’t. Probably because they’re good parents. I digress.
I get what these people are doing. I know they have quotas and overweight asshole sales managers who spend half the day firing up Camel non-filters and the other half sweating stains into their chairs and the carpet underneath the desk. I know their life most likely sucks some major, major ass.
I worked for a collection agency, so I get all the pressure this guy is under, but telling the gatekeeper that you’re a fucking agent? That takes some cajones. That’s someone who won’t even come close to making his goal, but he’s gonna try every shady thing he can to somehow not get fired.
This is Alec Baldwin yelling at Jack Lemon in Glengarry Glen Ross. This is, “Third prize is you’re fired.” This dude’s life fucking blows. And I’m truly sorry for that. I really am, but don’t start off our relationship with straight up bullshit, Agent Richardson. That ain’t how it works, playah. If you want to talk to the man in charge, you got to be nice to me.
Especially when I’m on my man period. When I’m not, I’ll just hang up on your ass, but when I’m on the dude rag, I’ll screw with you a bit.
Let me leave you with a fun way to jump start your weekend.
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