Chrisonomicon

Thursday, February 13, 2003

For the restless three months of summer that followed high school, I worked as a telemarketer for MCI making unsolicited calls to unsuspecting "potential customers," although they could now be more appropriately referred to as "potential courtroom litigants" after a satisfying move by the House of Reps on Wednesday. I hated every minute of that job, facing the bland blue wall of my cube, the amber glow of the ancient, legacy speed-dialer, feeling the waves of indifference and animosity engulf me even before the first words had lept from my tongue. I only lasted four weeks and would have left sooner if the $7/hour wasn't the best pay I could get right out of school at the time. Need I mention I was recognized as one of the best telemarketers they'd ever had, having sold exactly one hundred long-distance plans by my second week out of training, netting myself a fat bonus to boot. People will do anything for promises of dirty underwear.