Ten minutes ago the phone rang. I picked it up and said hello, hearing nothing back. At this point I probably would have hung up knowing it was a telemarketer, but I actually had a friend call about an hour before who I couldn’t hear right away. He left a message on my answering machine on the call back stating that this was the case. So I stayed on the line to see if it was him.
No, it was a voice I didn’t recognize calling me by my last name. Telemarketer. Damn.
But before I can say anything she tells me who she works for. It’s my credit card company (for the sake of anonymity, let’s call them Hase Manhattan Bank). So maybe this isn’t a telemarketing call after all. At this point I’m confused enough to not wonder why they’re calling me this late at night.
Well the woman has a fabulous feature that I can have on my credit card account she’d like to tell me about! See, if ever I get behind in my payments I can call them up and explain the situation and they’ll defer my payments until the next month.
This handy feature costs just 69 cents a month! Isn’t that wonderful?
But this phone call isn’t to sign up for anything. No siree bob, she said. She just wanted my permission to send me this information in the mail so I could, you know, look it over at my convenience.
Now at this point I was thinking two things. 1) I would never EVER sign up for this plan. 2) Why in the world would they need my permission over the phone to send me information in the mail? They have my address. Just send me the stuff.
So I said yes. Send me the information. This, I figured, would be the end of the call and I could get back to work.
It wasn’t.
The woman from Hase Manhattan Bank then said “OK, sir, if you don’t mind I’m going to be recording the next part of our conversation to verify your name and address. It will only take a few minutes.”
I snapped into full alert. Warning bells went off in my head. Seriously, they did. It was pretty spooky.
“Excuse me,” I said interrupting the woman from Hase Manhattan Bank. “Why are you recording this part of the conversation?”
“Just for verification purposes.”
“It will take a few minutes? I’m in your system already! You should have all my information.”
“Yes we do, but I just need your verification.”
“I’m not signing up for anything am I?”
“No sir you are not. We’re just sending you information in the mail and giving you a one month free trial of this new service.”
It all clicked.
“Let me guess. If I don’t call you up later and actually tell you I do not wish to have this service, it will be billed to my account until I cancel it, right?”
“Um…well…yes sir that is correct.”
“You were expecting me to not read the fine print and toss this information away as junk mail. Then I wasn’t supposed to notice the teeny tiny 69 cent addition to my bill every month. How close am I?” Not waiting for an answer I continue. “Tell you what? I’ll save you time right now. I do not want this service. I will never want this service. Do not sent me anything. Do not bill me for anything.”
She actually started laughing at this point. It was a minor chuckle but she was laughing! As if I had gotten past all Hase Manhattan’s defenses and she had to reluctantly admit the truth. “OK sir, thank you for your time this evening.” Click.
You fucking bastards. It’s bad enough you have me on your on your own personal telemarketing list. It’s bad enough you’re calling me at 9:00 PM on a weeknight. But you, Hase Manhattan Bank, have the fucking nerve to try and trick me, no, to screw me, a loyal customer of yours for over two years, to the tune of 69 cents a month. Your fucking mother doesn’t work that cheap.
I hope this is plan of yours is netting you a hefty profit at the expense of lost accounts because I’m seriously considering canceling my card over this.