I stayed home from work yesterday. Sick again. It hasn’t even been the good kind of sick- you know, where you’re not really well enough to go and earn your paycheck, but still alive enough to, say, sit around and play computer games all day, drag a half-gallon of ice cream home from the store, maybe go out to a restaurant later in the day. I had actually thought today might be such a day. Sadly, it wasn’t.

Instead, my body made it pretty clear that I was going to stay home to rest and recuperate, and that it wasn’t brooking any sort of argument with the brain that was nominally in charge of operations. I should have taken my cue from earlier in the day, when I figured I’d tough it out and drive in to work anyway. After a quarter-mile of intense discomfort- bobbing up above the dashboard between spasms of abdominal pain to obtain fragmentary glimpses of the road, I cut a quick 180° turn and made for home.

I stayed on the couch all day, sleeping. At least, I tried to. Four people came to the door today and rang the bell, jolting me from sleep. One of them turned out to be a delivery driver, since there was a package on the stoop when I finally perked up and ventured outside. One of the others was a callow, pimply youth with some sort of clipboard. Watching him fidget for a while, then leave in what appeared to be disgust, I resolved not to answer the door any more, but still they came, tearing me from the blissful arms of Morpheus. Bastards.

When the first telemarketing calls arrived, I had already had enough of interruptions, so I figured I’d play with them a little. Nothing nasty or involved, since I really wanted to plant my face back down on the couch, but enough for a cheap laugh. These calls were the bright spot in an otherwise dull day. The first caller to suffer my wrath was from a phone company. I don’t know how much these thrice-damned phone companies spend on telemarketing, but it seems to be so much, that I’m surprised there’s any money left over for CEOs to steal. The fun began when this friendly "long-distance advisor" wouldn’t take "I’m sorry, but I’m not interested" for an answer. Twice.

Phone Drone #1: "Are you sure, sir? You could realize significant savings!"
Me: "No, thanks. I don’t like to save money."
Phone Drone #1: "What?"
Me: "That’s right, I enjoy hemmorhaging great sacks of cash out of my checking account."
Phone Drone #1: "Well, even so, sir, I think we have a great plan for you."

Either this person didn’t pick up on the joke, or they actually do have a calling plan specifically designed for people who enjoy spending way too much money. I’d had my fun with that caller, though, and bade them good day. The next contestant was also calling to hawk some kind of awesome new telephone services that included mobile connectivity with something I had never heard of, much less cared about.

Phone Drone #2: "…so, sir, having heard about this, what do you think?"
Me: (putting on a phony German accent) "Vell, I don’t tink I like it."
Phone Drone #2: "What don’t you like about it, sir? This is a great price for the service."
Me: (unexpectedly slipping into a Swedish accent) "It’s yust dat I don’t tink ve can use it."
Phone Drone #2: "Well, sir, a lot of people say that until they try it. It’s really a great service, it keeps you connected with… [launches into spiel again]"
Me: "I yust don’t tink so. It sounds English to me, I tink!"
Phone Drone #2: "I’m sorry, what? English? What do you mean?"
Me: "Vell, ve really aren’t zupposed to use dis tings. Ve are Amish. Gott Bless you!"

I hung up on him at that point before he could indicate whether or not he got the punchline. I didn’t wait around to explain Amish beliefs if he didn’t, and didn’t want to be trapped on the phone as he got the joke, and continued his pitch. The next call was probably the best. Another goddamned phone company. I’d like to take credit for the wit, but I can’t. My wife Sandy had thought of it, and pulled it on a few people already.

Phone Drone #3: (finishing introduction) "…so would you like to start saving money today?"
Me: "I’m sorry, I can’t possibly switch to your company right now."
Phone Drone #3: "We can work around any existing contracts you might have, sir. In fact, our Bonus Plan.. [drones on for a bit]"
Me: (cutting him off) "No, it’s not that. It’s impossible for me to switch."
Phone Drone #3: (sounding surly) "Why would that be, sir?"
Me: "I don’t have a phone."

After the third poor wretch, I didn’t feel like playing anymore, so I turned all the phone ringers off and set the volume on the answering machine down to nothing. Three more calls came in after that. The first two were canned recordings from a "Mr. Brown" and "Ms. Yolanda", respectively, urging me to call them back at the same toll-free number. These were not sales calls, the messages solemnly said, rather, they were to discuss "important business negotiations." Uh huh. Let me see if if I can reschedule my busy executive day to learn about your amazing business opportunity that was not an effort to sell something. The last call was a recorded message from an overcaffeinated, spastic, ebullient young man who was "surprised" I hadn’t already called him regarding whatever fantastic, money-saving, guaranteed-to-produce-orgasm thing he was selling.

I’m never sure whether to hate or pity telemarketers, so it’s generally both- extreme annoyance at their temerity, devolving into abject pity for their crappy job. I always try to hang up before the pity starts, so I don’t buy some useless service out of misguided mercy. Plus, hanging up on someone, though generally considered rude, can be pretty cathartic, and nobody will defend the telemarketers, the whipping boys of the information age. Always remember, that if you think your job sucks, you could be telemarketing.

If you’re reading this, and you are stuck calling people on their deathbeds to sell them telephone services, know this: I do pity you.

Now go away.