Attack of the Killer Telemarketers: Part Deux

Oh-Woe-Is-Me-Day:  (n.) a dreary, depressing day where the victim is prone to spontaneous crying and bouts of self-pity; the victim may attempt to fish for compliments, wall herself up in her own apartment, and imbibe an entire bottle of Little Penguin Shiraz in the span of 3 hours; causes of such a day may include irritating co-workers, break-ups on Christmas (true story), continued “Single” status on Facebook, no time to pee, the Apocalypse, losing a limb, and/or decapitation; remedies may include several episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, a hot bubble bath, phone calls to The Mom, and either the Hallmark or Lifetime channel; Oprah works, too.

No free trips given away on this blog!

Needless to say, yesterday found me battling against such a day.  I struggled through a long day of student teaching, rushed home to teach 5 voice lessons over the span of 3 hours, and dealt with some personal issues to put a nice bow on the fantastic present that was Thursday.  Oh, and my dog threw up in my bed.  Thanks, Bailey…

Don't give me that "I didn't toss my cookies in bed" look...

 

All in all, though, my day really wasn’t that bad.  Many, many, many worse things could have happened, and for that fact, I am grateful.  I am healthy.  I have all my fingers.  And teeth.  That alone is a cause for celebration!

Grin and bear it!

So, by 7:00 PM, I threw off the stresses of my day and indulged in pasta, red wine, and a bubble bath (not at the same time, although my wine glass did accompany me to my “spa”…I have jacuzzi jets in my tub!)  I even brought along my phone to call up The Mom.

Carbs + Alcohol + Mr. Bubbles + The Mom = Therapy

Little did I know my tranquil rehabilitation would be interrupted by an evil previously thought vanquished from my life.  What kind of monster attempts to get a hold of me through The Mom?

The Mom:  …well, if it’s late, I don’t want you driving home (frequent topic of our conversation).  Oh!  By the way…guess who called here looking for you?

Me: Who?

The Mom: The New York Philharmonic…

No!  Not the New York Philharmonic!  To quote from the movie Hook: “My great and worthy opponent!”

BANGARANG!

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“I’m dreaming of a telemarketer-free Christmas…”

We’ve all been there.  Sitting, harmlessly, in the comforts of our own home…not bothering anyone…not causing harm…when suddenly, it happens.

The telephone rings.  You, unassumingly, run to pick it up, thinking it might Oprah, calling to tell you you’ve won a car, a trip to Australia, and a fuzzy bath robe.  You naturally check your caller ID, and your whole night suddenly descends into the depths of an abyss you cannot escape from.  Yes, that’s right.  From out of the blackness of night comes a demon far scarier than anything you could possibly imagine.  A harbinger of sheer terror that allows no escape:  a telemarketer.

I knew the moment I looked at my caller ID that this telemarketer was like no other.  My Droid displayed a New York City area code, which, to me, is an automatic warning sign.  I knew who it was, cringed to think of the conversation that would ensue, yet forced myself to answer the call instead of bluntly ignoring the caller, an action I am accustomed to performing.

“Hello!  My name is Janice and I’m calling on behalf of the New York Philharmonic…”

During the two years I spent in New York City, I attended a total of two concerts sponsored by the New York Phil.  Somehow, this meager action led them to believe that I’m a.) wealthy, b.) philanthropic, and c.) NOT plunged into grad school debt.  I receive at least 4 calls a year from the Philharmonic, and my previous phone encounters with them have NOT resulted in any plaques labeled with my name, nor commemorative seats blazened with my likeness to glorify my donation.  I’m not a stingy person, but I just don’t have $50/month to give to an organization which is 7 hours removed from my current city of residence.