Tuesday, January 25, 2005

I almost had another excellent conversation with a tele-marketer last night but I was foiled by my fun-hating wife. I was upstairs and my wife was downstairs (which sounds like a euphemism, but is not) when the phone rang. My wife picked up the phone a second before I did.

Wife: Hello?
Tele-marketer: Hello, I'm calling from Blahblah Research. May I speak to the youngest male in the residence of voting age?

(At this point I began to salivate while my mind raced for a good opening line.)

Wife: There are no males in this residence. (hangs up her line)

(Ouch! Am I not a voting-age male in this residence? If you impugn my masculinity, do I not whine? Man, that is cold.)

Telemarketer: May I speak to the youngest female in the residence of voting age?

(What luck! The telemarketer hadn't hung up. This was my shot. I frantically strategized and came up with....)

Me: (in my best operatic/comedic falsetto) Yyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeess?
Tele-marketer: (hangs up)

So close to greatness.

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