"Ello, Iz zat mister Baranez?"
Click. I've already disconnected. In the few milliseconds in which I entertained that marvelous 3rd world voice I've managed to silently curse him, his dead grandparents, and the goat from where he got his mornings milk.
I was on the bog! I was doing my daily business! And I've had to wind things up quickly and unconvincingly in order to take call from a "Morris" or a "Jeremy" or any other English pseudonym he pulled out of the office basket before his shift started. These are the joy's of sub continent cold calling, this bewildering phenomena that has, over the past several days, come into stark relief for me. I've been at home with a throat infection, and as such have run the gauntlet of these people. Admitted, I hang up the moment I hear the familiar background hubbub, but by then I've been pulled away from whatever it was I was doing beforehand. It's really annoying, but then I have to reflect for a moment and regale myself of several pertinent facts. The majority of the cold callers are most likely highly educated students just out to make a buck, all woefully over qualified to do such repetitive, menial work. I daresay they don't like calling grumpy old buzzards like me anymore than I want to hear their inevitably scripted flailing's to sell me double glazing, or Windows software updates, or whatever else it is their peddling. Confession; I've painful experience of cold calling from a previous job. It is soul destroying, depressing, mundane beyond all decent contemplation. I had a former boss whom was convinced that it was route one to increasing sales and she had me doing this three days a week for what seemed a lifetime. The statistical return is 0.2% success rate tops, and this depends on how you define success. Upshot was that I ended up with work related stress and all kinds of additional stress related symptoms, all of which I've written on before.
The point is, when I fume at these boys and girls I'm not being entirely fair. They need to make a buck. They're almost certainly working beneath themselves. They probably hate what they do. So forget about my sarcastic opening remarks and cut these guys a break, OK? Or at least, don't subject them to unnecessary abuse. Unless you hadn't noticed there's a real chance we're about to lurch into a further financial crisis, and that means you and I potentially doing jobs we otherwise wouldn't have dreamed of.
I'd say "But for the grace of God go I", but I'm not that way inclined. Suffice to say it could be you, could be me. We'd do well to bare that in mind.