It's been a while now since I've written an entry here. Today I will recount a story from about two months ago. I was at the tail end of an eleven week road trip through California and Oregon. I had spent the night in my car on the jetty near Florence, Oregon. I woke early and drove north, stopping to buy groceries on my way to a hippie festival in the coastal forest. I sat in my car in the parking lot of Ray's Food Place, waiting for a call from a friend to provide me with directions and coordinate meeting. As I sat in the car, I watched a man and his son walk past nearby. The man dropped a coin, paused briefly to scan the ground for it, but did not bend down to retrieve it, and continued walking.
Though I was awaiting the call of my friend, when my phone rang, it was a number I did not recognize. I answered, and was greeted by a strange male voice, speaking English, but perhaps from a call center outside the United States. As is usually the case with sales calls, my full name was used in the request to speak with me. I hesitantly confirmed that indeed I am who I am. It soon became apparent that I was being pitched a warranty for my car, which is now seven years old. They were calling from the Vehicle Processing Center.
(I change to present tense here, FYI grammar police)
It sounds very official, but this does not reassure me that I ought to be engaging in the conversation. Since I have nothing else to be doing, however, I stay on the line. What do I have to lose? He asks me the odometer reading and I give an honest answer. The previous day I had broken 100,000 miles. Without warning, I am immediately transferred to another agent, perhaps in another physical location altogether.
This man's tone is very different. He sounds American, but I can't really be sure. He talks very quickly, and is clearly trained in customer service or sales. My tone is not nearly as congenial as his and I tell him that I don't expect to buy a warranty, but they may provide me a quote if they would like to. I speak with him for perhaps a minute before I am again transferred, this time to a man who sounds African American, more confident than either of the prior. "Do you have any questions about the policy?" he asks. I tell him that I'm really not that interested. I was only staying on the line so that they could provide me a quote. By now, I am feeling manipulated by the tactics of this sales team. "I don't have time for this sir. Good luck" he says with impatience. "Okay, bye" I answer. "Yeah, Good luck" he repeats, he voice terse and sharp. The call ends.
I remain sitting in my car, somewhat stunned. Why did I waste my time on this? Why did the first two men persist when I showed almost no interest, yet the third would have told me to fuck off if it wouldn't have cost him his job? I sit for another moment, left with a general distaste from the experience. Then I hear out my window, an old lady exclaim to her friend, "Look, it's a good luck day!" as she holds a penny in her hand.
