82. Cold Calling

I achieved a new personal best today – nearly 16 minutes!  I’d like to know if anyone can beat that.  

The phone rang.  I have Caller ID and it told me that this was an “International Call”.  

I get a call like this, mid-morning, virtually every day.  It is always someone whose first language is not English, calling me from an overseas call centre. 

Sometimes, it’s to try to get me to claim damages for an accident that they assure me, despite my protestations otherwise, I have had some time in the last three years.  

Occasionally, it is to tell me that I am definitely owed compensation for mis-sold Payment Protection Insurance that they insist I have bought in the last six years.

Mostly though, it’s someone who says that they're from BT and that as my IP address has been compromised, they need access to my screen to put it right.  They want to screen share.

I always seem to be at a loose end with nothing pressing to do when they ring and so I play a little game with them.  I try to keep them on the line for as long as possible.  Until this morning my record was a measly 2 minutes 42 seconds.

I do this for two reasons.  Firstly, I find it fun wasting their time and it’s a punishment for them bothering me.  

Secondly, I have altruistic reasons - the more time they spend with me, the less time they have to annoy anyone else and that includes you.

These callers are usually very good at spotting when I am deliberately dithering and prevaricating and as soon as they do, perfunctorily hang up. 

The gentleman who rang today must be very new to the job.  This a shortened version of what happened:

I answered the phone by saying, “Yes?”

There was silence but that often happens because I think that they must call several numbers at once and so I didn’t hang up.  

After ten seconds or so I turned on the loudspeaker and put the phone down on the arm of my chair.  More than a minute later I heard a voice saying, “Mr Davvis?”  

They struggle to pronounce ‘Dawes’ and as the phone account is in Caroline’s name, they assume that I am Mr Dawes.  I asked what he wanted.

“Can I ask you some questions?” he said.

“I expect so,” I replied, already realising that this was an opportunity not to be missed.

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing,” I said, “but what’s in it for me?  Will you pay me for the time I spend answering your questions?”

“No but there are other rewards.”

“Like what?”  

“You will get to know about special offers and you won’t get unwanted phone calls.”

“What, like this one?”  He didn’t answer me but went on to say, 

“I’ll ask you some questions to complete a survey.  First of all, what kind of house do you live in?”

“A nice one,” I said, helpfully.

“Is it a bungalow, a semi-detached house, a detached house, an apartment, a flat, a maisonette or other?”

“What’s the difference between an apartment and a flat?” I asked him with genuine interest.

“An apartment is a suite of rooms in a building”

“So what’s a flat then?”  

“A flat is the British word for an apartment.”

“Do you know which country I live in?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

“Then why mention an apartment?  Let’s hear them all again.”

“Do you live in a bungalow, a semi-detached house, a detached house, an apartment, a flat, a maisonette or other?”

“Yes.”  

This is the point I was sure he’d hang up but instead,

“What is the family income?”

“Before we go any further,” I said, “I hope you realise that I am trying to keep you on the line as long as possible because I know that this is an attempt at a scam.“

But, he didn’t hang up!  “What is the family income?” he repeated.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Is it less than £25,000?”

“No, much more.”

“More than £50,000?”

“Much, much more.  Seven figures.” 

“£500,000?”

“That’s not seven figures.  At least ten times more than that.”  Surely, he must have heard me giggle.

“How old are you?” he asked, after a short pause.

“That is none of your bloody business.”

“Older or younger than 21?”

“Yes I am.”

I was getting bored with this now and I couldn’t see how he would ever realise that I was deliberately wasting his time and so this could go on for hours.  He carried on.

“These are the last set of questions.  What is your occupation?”  

I thought for a few seconds of the most unlikely occupation I could come up with.

“I am a freelance assassin.”

“Do you ever have to travel overseas for your work?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you ever use Air India when you are travelling overseas for work purposes?”

“Only if my target is in India and I can’t get a seat with Cathay Pacific.”

“Would you like me to email you details of Air India’s special offers?”

“No.”  I had really had enough of this now.  “There’s someone at the door,” I said.  “I’m going to have to put you on hold.  I’ll be thirty seconds or so.”

I pressed the mute button and stared out of the window watching several birds pecking at my lawn.  I could hear him breathing and I watched the seconds and then the minutes passing on the screen of the phone.

Eventually, “Mr Davvis,” “Are you there, Mr Davvis?............... Mr Davvis?  Are you there please,” he bleated, plaintively.

“Thank you for taking part in this survey, Mr Davvis.  Goodbye.”

15 minutes 54 seconds.  Beat that!